


Besoin d'être voulu

by orphan_account



Category: South Park
Genre: Family, Friendship, Gen
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2012-09-21
Updated: 2012-09-21
Packaged: 2017-11-14 18:07:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 8
Words: 26,560
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/518056
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Kenny would like for you to better understand him. Abandoned.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter One

**Author's Note:**

> This was my second attempt at writing fic. It's on hiatus as of now, however I do plan on finishing it at some point in the future.

I have nothing to offer you. Nothing to give. Even though I want to give you everything. But you give me so much, and I have nothing to offer in return. I wish I did.

Everything in my life seems to indicate that the universe is out to get to me. I'm the only kid in South Park who lives in what was once a playhouse. The only one who has to wear hand-me-downs. The only one with rats that scurry on his bedroom floor. The only kid in South Park who can't die.

My existence is one of the mysteries of reality. How can a person not expire? How can I exist the way I am, with no explanation? Ever since I could read and understand that it wasn't normal for people to come back from the dead I have been searching for answers. Answers to who I am, where I come from, what I am.

But I never find what I'm looking for. I had asked God and Satan both the meaning behind my immortality, and neither had an answer. Because I came from neither of them. Isn't that something? When the creator and the devil have no idea how you came to be?

It scares me, just like the concept of never dying scares me. Most people are afraid of death. They're afraid of burning in hell, or being shut off in a dark space, with nothingness surrounding them. But I have more reason to be afraid than they do. I have an eternity of loneliness to look forward to.

As if that weren't enough, my problems about my existence on the cosmic scale are just the start. As a human, I have life on earth to contend with. I don't know why the universe decided to not only curse me with immortality, but also the worst kind of home life. It's unfair, really it is. It's the equivalent of planting something in soil it's not fit for and then cutting off half the sunlight.

Let's start with my home. It's not much of one. A home is a place you go to and you feel safe. You feel protected and loved. A home is supposed to be your refuge from the cruelties of the world.

Instead mine held all the cruelties in it. I won't lie; I was never hit or sexually abused. I was never ignored or made to feel like my voice wasn't important the way Craig Tucker's family had made him feel. There were never restrictions that could suffocate like there were at the Stotches. There was never a pressure to be perfect intellectually like the Broflovskis forced onto their children.

My parents, though loving had no understanding of how their toxic relationship affected their children. That my brother and I considered yelling and fighting to be normal should have been a tip off that something was wrong. It was never okay to fight in front of children; unfortunately my parents saw nothing wrong with exposing us to their contempt for each other. When you grow up in my house you fall asleep to the sounds of dishes breaking, bottles being thrown instead of lullabies being sung. It was only after spending time with my friends families did I realize how screwed up my parents were.

So with my parents constantly bickering, I found myself looking for comfort in my brother Kevin. Unfortunately he was already four years my senior, and had no interest in me, someone he saw as just another mouth to feed in the house. I often felt lonely as a child when I went home, knowing that I wasn't really needed. That's why whenever Karen comes to me needing an older brother I'm there for her. I don't want my sister to grow up feeling lonely at home the way I had.

She isn't really my little sister, but I love her just the same. She's actually my dad's brother's kid. Which is why she has the light brown hair; it's a trait of my father's family. She came to live with us after my uncle went to jail for murdering a guy he got into a bar fight with. My family doesn't talk about it, and we treat Karen like she had always been here before the social workers dropped her off.

I guess your family and your upbringing shape who you are. If that's the case I don't think I have much of a chance. I grew up in poverty, not knowing much else except the things my friends exposed me to. In my house the only literature we had was magazines filled with pictures of naked women and words that just described sex. It wasn't that I was mature that I knew more about sex than my friends; it was that that was what I had been exposed to the most at a young age.

I often think about sex actually. Not just the act itself, but the meaning behind it. Finding pleasure, giving it, sharing that pleasure. It's a beautiful thing. But the act itself is debasing, animalistic and not at all beautiful.

If I were to have sex, and the irony that I'm still a virgin at seventeen is not lost on me; I'd want to do it with someone who wanted to share not just the physical pleasure but the love that supposed to come with the act. I want a partner who won't treat me like I'm some horny idiot who just wants to get laid. I want to share my body with someone who respects me, and respects themselves. I don't want to fuck just for the heck of it. I never do anything unless there is deeper meaning to the act.

I think misery seeks company. Not loves, but seeks. I enjoy Stan and Kyle's friendship, but sometimes I see how good they have it, and I compare my life to theirs and it depresses me. That's why I seek out the friendships and companionships of people I can empathize with. Like Butters and Cartman for example.

They both have unstable home lives like me. They're both insane in their own way as well. They both have problems in their lives, with their personalities and family. They both know what it's like to feel like no one understands your point of view. What I'm trying to say is, I'm drawn to people who have it just as bad or almost as bad as I do.

The one good thing about being friends with them is I can see how much a person's environment affects them. They're both only children, but they have different personalities because their upbringings were so different. One is good natured but naïve to the way the world works. The other thinks nothing they do is wrong as a result of knowing too much about adults at an early age. I learned so much from both of them.

The skills Cartman has taught me would help me in any situation where I needed to manipulate the surroundings to better benefit me. If I wanted to take over an entire town, he'd know the perfect ten step plan to achieve that goal. If I wanted to persuade others on my side I could use logic that made people think my ideas were best. If I had to seek vengeance for any reason he'd be there, guiding me through the process.

Butters on the other hand is the polar opposite. He makes me think of bunny rabbits, I'm not sure why. I know there's a dark side hidden underneath; it just never comes out because he's so restricted. The few things I've learned from Butters help me out when dealing with other parents in South Park. I've heard other parents talk about how they wish their children were as well behaved as he was.

So I watch his mannerisms and imitate them as best I can around the adults in my town. I imitate the innocence, the politeness. I keep up the simple charm when I'm around my friends parents to gain sympathy. It doesn't hurt that my poverty is a contributing factor to it. Acting like Butters in front of my friends parents guarantees that they'll like me.

And why do I want that? Because I seek approval. It makes it easier to know that there are people who approve of my existence, who like me. Even though it's because if a shallow and fake personality. I'm weird like that,

I never want to take advantage of people's kindness or generosity. I won't turn down a place to sleep and a hot meal if it's offered. I just don't want charity out of pity. I work hard for everything I have. If someone is kind to me, I have every intention of returning that kindness.

Which brings me to my next point…


	2. Chapter Two

I don't have one. Isn't that something? You'd think I would, but I don't. I wish I did, and maybe I'll find it. I'm only seventeen, I don't have to be eloquent all the time.

Let me set the scene. Right now it's January, almost the middle of the month. South Park is of course freezing which means my house is virtually an igloo. I found a rat at the bottom of my bed, completely frozen. It was the most disgusting thing I had found that early in the morning.

After disposing of it I go into the kitchen for breakfast. It's Saturday, thank god, and I don't have to work. I turn on the kitchen light, and get to watch about twelve cockroaches scurry away under the refridgerator. I may be used to it, but that doesn't mean it doesn't make me sick anymore. I dry heave a little before grabbing the box of generic cereal.

There's hardly any in there, just enough for maybe three handfuls. I have to make sure I don't take too much, or risk getting yelled at for not leaving some for the rest of my family. I take maybe half of a handful, with no milk because my mother doesn't believe in having what she calls luxuries in the house. It's gone within two minutes, even though I eat them one at a time. I'm still hungry though; I'm always hungry.

Out in the living room my mother is passed out on the couch, a bottle of Johnny Walker in her grip, the afghan covering her. I know Kevin's working today at the quik trip in town, and Karen's at one of her girl friend's houses. My dad is…I'm not sure. I listen in the quiet of my house, and hear snoring coming from my parents room. Well that's everyone accounted for.

Weekends for me are particularly dull. I'm not the type to just lay around the house all day doing nothing. Usually I'd hang out with Stan and Kyle, but I'm kind of burnt out on them. All they ever wanna do is sit on the couch and watch tv. That's fun and all, but it gets a little too routine after a while.

I could hang out with Butters, but he's probably grounded again, for nothing. He usually is. I'm surprised his parents haven't been arrested for child abuse yet. Besides I hate going over to his house. His parents look at me like I'm some kind of bug they want to step on.

Cartman is a possibilty, even though he's a total psychopath. He's always finding new stuff to do so it's never boring when I hang out with him. But I don't like spending time at his house if it's the weekend. The food may be overflowing, but his mother is always around. Being sexually harassed by a woman twice my age who has more STDS than I have fingers is not my idea of a good time.

So I'm stuck in my freezing shack, starving; watching vermin run on the floor. I sit on the edge of the couch, and watch my mother snoring. I'm glad she's asleep. The truth is she's the more violently aggressive one of my parents when drunk. My dad just talks in circles, which gets old pretty quick.

I'm wearing a thick wool dark brown sweater that has moth holes in it and stretched out sleeves from too much wear. My blue jeans are faded and have a ton of holes and rips near my lower thighs and knees. My tennis shoes are an ugly grey color and have holes in the bottom. My parka from childhood no longer fits me, and I'm stuck without a coat until I find one I like.

I look at the old vcr, the time blinking in red light. It's one-thirty in the afternoon. I need something to do. Homework's out, I had that taken care of last night. I can't just sit on this couch in silence all day.

I get up, making sure not to disturb my mother. I quietly walk to the front door, and do my best to open it without making too much noise. As quietly as I can manage I go outside, and shut the door behind me. I don't need a house key because my house doesn't even have a lock. Why should it have a lock, when we have nothing for anyone to break in and steal?

I have no idea where I'm going. I'm walking around outside on the sidewalks of suburbia. No one's outside, because it's the weekend, and everyone else has heat in their houses. But to me it's warmer outside than it is inside. I keep walking, avoiding the patch of ice by briefly walking in the two feet of snow.

I think about going to the mall, where there's warmth, and people. But I'm poor, completely penniless. It would just depress me, going to someplace with tons of stores, knowing I couldn't get anything. I'm not materialistic, I just don't like being places that remind me that I'm broke. Any money I get is automatically spent on bills or groceries for my family.

I think I've been walking for about an hour now. I don't have a watch or a phone, but I think that much time has passed. My feet are tired, and snow is getting inside them. I stop when I feel something wet splash on my head. Looking at the sky I see that it's beginning to rain.

I guess it's time to head back, even though I don't want to. I turn around, and head back in the direction I came. I walk down a couple blocks, by that time the rain is essentially a downpour. I wrap my arms around myself, shivering; trying to keep myself warm. I'm completely soaked, and my wet clothes are clinging to my skin.

"Do you need a ride?"

I turn my head to the left to see a woman driving a red mitsubishi. I stop walking and she hits her breaks. She's looking at me in concern. I see she's middle aged, but very pretty. She has shoulder length caramel colored hair, and a blue dress on.

She calls out to me. "I can give you a ride home if you need it."

I walk over to her car, to the passenger side and get in. She doesn't look at me with disdain the way other adults do. The inside of her car is nice and warm, and smells like she had it cleaned.

"Thank you." I tell her.

She smiles in this sweet way before driving off. "You're welcome. Now, where do you need to go?"

I tell her my address, giving directions. "I'm Kenny McCormick,by the way."

"Oh I know who you are dear. We've met before, when you were smaller."

I think back, trying to remember. I'm drawing a blank,

She sees me struggling to remember and helpfully informs me. "I'm Tweek's mother."

Oh. I'm not really friends with Tweek, and it makes sense that I wouldn't recognize her when I hadn't seen her since I was an eight year old.

"Oh yeah, I remember going to your house when I was little. You had three coffee pots in your kitchen."

"Yes I did. I just came from Harbucks actually, that's why there's instant coffee boxes in the back seat."

I turn around, and sure enough there are.

"Kenny dear, why were you walking out in the rain?"

"Well, it wasn't raining when I started."

She looks at my clothes. "Didn't you have anything warmer to wear?"

I shake my head. "These are actually the nicest clothes I have."

She frowns and looks back at the road. "Are you cold Kenny dear? I can turn up the heat if you need it."

"No thank you, I'm alright. I'm sorry my wet clothes are ruining your seat covers."

"It's alright, I can wash them at home. Is this it?" she asks.

I look at the window. "Yeah, that's my house. Thank you for the ride home."

"You're welcome Kenny dear. Let me pull up to the driveway so you don't have far to walk."

Mrs. Tweek drives up to the driveway and stops so I can get out. I take off my seatbelt and open the door.

"You lazy son of a bitch! Why don't you get off your lazy ass for once and do something?"

Uh-oh. Mom and dad are awake. They're fighting so loudly I can hear them from outside. I freeze, I've got one foot out the door.

"Oh my." Mrs. Tweek says.

More screaming is heard, and something made of glass is thrown, making a terrific noise. Mrs. Tweek taps me on the shoulder. I turn my head to face her.

"Kenny dear, I don't feel comfortable letting you go into that house while your parents are fighting. Why don't you stay at my house for awhile? You can call your parents to let them know you're safe, and I'll take you home after they've cooled off."

That sounds like a great idea. I climb back in, shut the door and buckle up.

"Thank you Mrs, Tweek."

"Call me Cindy, Kenny dear."

I smile at her, and she smiles back. She drives us to her house. My stomach starts to growl.

"Are you hungry, Kenny dear?" she asks me.

"Yes Cindy."

"When we get to my house I'll fix you some coffee cake."

My stomach growled again. Gggrrhhhcaaaaakkkkkeeemprgh

Her eyebrows shoot up. "That sounded like cake!"

It sure did. "Thank you Cindy. Thank you for your hospitality. But I don't want something for nothing. I want to repay you for being kind to me. Is there anything around the house I can do for you?"

"Hmm, well, I suppose you could help me fold the laundry. But we'll do that after you've called your parents and dried off and had something to eat; okay Kenny dear?"

"Okay." I like Tweek's mom, she's nice.

We get to her house, and walk inside…


	3. Chapter Three

"Just stay in the entryway Kenny dear, while I get a towel for you." Mrs. Tweek tells me, as she takes the instant coffee boxes to the kitchen.

I'm standing in the little entryway where the indoor welcome mat is, dripping wet. I look around the living room, the furniture is all overstuffed and looks extremely comfortable. The main color scheme seems to be various shades of coffee; from the creamy tan carpeting, to the white ottomans, to the beige couch and dark brown easy chair. The lighting is warm and soft, and makes everything from the television to the bookshelves appear homey and nice. I get the idea that the overall impression of this house is comfort.

Mrs. Tweek walks over to me holding two dark red towels. She hands one to me.

"Here you go, Kenny dear, Use this one to dry off, and I'll lay this towel on the couch so you can sit down."

I use the towel she gave me to dry off my hair, skin and clothes to the best of my ability. She takes the other towel and lays it flat on the couch. I've never known any adult to be this kind to me before, at least one who I have no real affiliation with. I mean, I'm not even friends with her son; and she's treating me so nicely. I can't understand it. Even my own friends parents aren't this generous.

"Uh, thanks again." I say.

She smiles at me warmly and walks toward the kitchen again. "Take your shoes off, Kenny dear and sit down. I'll get the phone for you while I heat up some coffee cake." With that she's gone again.

I take my shoes off and leave them by the door, the towel I wrap around my shoulders. I walk over to the couch and sit on the other towel. She comes back a moment later after I've sat down, and hands me their home phone. After calling my house four times with no one answering, I hand the phone back to Mrs. Tweek. I see her frowning.

"Did no one answer?" She asks.

I shake my head. She sighs. "Oh dear."

A high pitched ding is heard. "I'll be right back, Kenny dear." She says as she leaves again, holding the phone.

I find myself relaxing, this home is so nice and warm. I have to wonder if Mrs. Tweek is this nice to everyone, or if it's just because I knew her son once. Then my mind wanders to Tweek. Where could he be? And was her husband working?

Mrs. Tweek returns, carrying a fork and plate with a large piece of warm coffee cake and a mug of coffee. She sets it on the coffee table in front of me.

"Thank you Cindy." I say to her.

"Would you like some cream or sugar for the coffee Kenny dear?"

"No thank you. This is really nice of you to do this for me." I say as I take a drink from the mug, the caffeine hitting my system like a jolt.

"I'm going to check on the laundry. Kenny dear, could you do me a favor?"

I've got a mouthful of delicious coffee cake, but I nod to let her know I'm listening.

"Please try to be as quiet as you can. Richard is still at work, but Tweek is asleep upstairs. Poor thing, this is the first time he's been able to sleep in days. I just don't want anything to prematurely wake him, you understand, right?"

I did. At home I tried very hard to make sure my parents didn't wake up too early, or I'd be subjected to their fighting. I don't think Mrs. Tweek is worried about waking Tweek up early for the same reasons I'm afraid of waking my parents early. She's actually a caring parent. For a moment I wondered what it would be like to have someone who was that considerate towards me.

"Yes Cindy. I'll be as quiet as I can."

"Thank you Kenny dear. Enjoy the food."

She walks away, towards a back room. I'm left alone again,but I'm okay with that. This coffee cake is extremely good, I realize as I eat more and more of it. The coffee she gave me is perfect, fresh and hot. I feel myself getting dryer and warmer, and my hunger is slowly going away.

I finish the snack and coffee Mrs. Tweek gave me, and set the plate and mug back on the coffee table as quietly as I can. I stand up so I can walk around the room. My socks have holes in them as well, and I can feel the soft carpet beneath them. Everything in this place makes me feel safe and warm. It doesn't bother me too much that this is basically a stranger's home.

It's better than being at my house. Too much yelling and fighting there. Just because I'm used to yelling, doesn't mean it doesn't still stress me out. Right now I feel relaxed, something I haven't felt in a long time. I like it here, it's quiet and nice.

I'm looking at the family portrait by the front door. In the picture Tweek is eight. Looking around the room, I see there aren't any recent pictures of him. I don't have time to think about why that is, I'm about to have company. I hear footsteps on the stairs behind me.

Turning around, I see Tweek walking down the steps. I understand now why his mother didn't want him getting up earlier than he had to. The guy looked, in a word, awful. His blond hair stuck up all over the place, reminding me of a child's drawing of the sun's rays. He looks absolutely haggard, as if the whole world were resting on his shoulders.

He stops in the middle of the staircase, finally noticing my presence. He blinks a few times, and rubs his eyelids as if he were seeing something. His hands then go up into his hair, scratching his scalp. I can see the dark circles under his eyes, the crooked nose and chapped lips.

"Nngh, Kenny? What are you doing here?" he sounds tired, and the question isn't accusatory.

"I was walking home, and your mom gave me a ride. She didn't think it was safe for me to go home, so she brought me here and fixed me a snack. She said you were napping, I didn't wake you, did I?"

Tweek stretches and yawns before answering. "Nah, you didn't. I just can't sleep for very long." An involuntary twitch follows this statement.

He continues down the stairs until he's standing on the floor next to me. He and I aren't really friends, we don't even hang out with the same groups of people. I have no idea what kind of person he is. But then again, he doesn't know anything about me either. He walks past me to the kitchen.

It makes me wonder if he's just used to seeing strangers in his house. I would have thought he'd freak out or something. I pick up my plate, fork and mug and bring them into the kitchen with me. I set them in the sink and watch Tweek as he pours himself a cup of coffee. I take the opportunity to see everything I can about him.

He's slightly shorter than I am, which isn't saying much. He's at least five feet and five inches tall. His hair seems to make up for his lack of height though. He doesn't shake like he used to when we were kids, but I can see him twitching involuntarily. He seems to stand with his shoulders hunched in, neck down, as if he's trying to form his own shell.

In the bright kitchen light I can see his skin is an unhealthy pale shade, and upon closer inspection I can see bruises in shades of purple, blue and yellow on his face and neck. His mother doesn't seem like the type to allow or conduct abuse, and I wonder how he got those bruises. He's wearing black socks, baggy dark blue jeans, a black shirt and a long sleeved green dress shirt with the buttons unbuttoned. His clothing seems to be three sizes too big for him and makes it hard for me to figure out just how skinny he is. He sees me staring at him and flinches and turns to look at me.

"What?" he asks, gripping his coffee mug to his chest.

I try to get the words out, and find them dying on my tongue. His lime green eyes are huge in a "I'm too paranoid to shut my eyes ever" type of way. Having them watching me, waiting for an answer unnerves me. I focus on his bruises again. I find my topic.

"I was just wondering where you got those bruises."

He twitches and takes a sip of his coffee. He sets the mug down on the counter.

"I'm a boxer. Last night I was in the ring for two hours. This is nothing,you should see what I did to the other guy." He picks up his mug and drinks again, a smirk on his lips.

"You're a boxer?"

His baggy clothes make it hard for me to determine whether or not he actually could be a boxer. He seemed wiry enough. He sets his mug down again, and pulls one of the sleeves of his green shirt up. He shows me the wrapped white bandages covering his hands and wrists. I can see the dark blood stains on them.

"You don't get bandages like these without hitting a few people." He tells me with a grin, pulling his sleeve back down.

"I've been ack! fighting at the local boxing ring for about, three years now." He says, his head spasmically twitching to the left briefly.

"I had no idea. That's really cool, Tweek." And it is. I've never met anyone who actually fought professionally.

"Thanks. Next time I have a match, I'll make sure my manager saves an extra ticket so you  
can see me in action."

That sounds tempting. I'd like to see what that would look like, him twitching and jumping around, hitting a guy with those big red gloves on his hands.

"So how's life? I know we haven't really hung out in like, forever. But um, how've you been, Tweek?" I think it's really awkward to attempt small talk with a guy I know nothing about. But I'll try anyway.

"I've been good. Just working, hanging out with my friends. You?"

"The same." I say.

He takes his mug with him as he walks over to the table. He sits down and shakes a little as he brings the mug up to his chapped pink lips. I decide to sit down as well, sitting in the seat across from him.

Tweek asks me as soon as I've sat down,"Where do you work?"

"The pick-and-save. It's mostly just stocking shelves and scanning prices. But a job's a job, right?" I ask.

"I have to work at my dad's store. That's like making the junkie work in the coke lab."

I burst out laughing. I hadn't expected him to say that. His mouth turns up a smile, and soon he's snickering along with me. His mother walks into the room.

"Oh hello son, how was your nap?" Mrs. Tweek asks her son as she comes over to him.

"Hi mom. It was good." She ruffles her son's already spiky hair.

"Kenny dear, I've got the laundry ready for you in the living room." Mrs. Tweek informs me.

Tweek looks at the both of us. "What's nngh! Going on?"

"I offered to help do something around the house for your mom as thanks for letting me stay here and giving me food." I explain.

"You did?" His eyelids rapidly blinks as he drinks his coffee.

"You sure you want to help with the folding, Kenny dear?" His mother asks me as she gives her son a hug.

"I'm sure. I like helping out."

"Well let's go into the living room then." she says.

I get up from the table, and walk back to the living room with Mrs. Tweek. There's two baskets of laundry. I start folding clothing items as Mrs. Tweek does the same. Tweek comes over to us and joins in.

"So do you still hang out with the same guys you used to hang out with when we were little?" Tweek asks.

"Yeah. Do you still hang out with Craig and those guys?"

"Yeah."

We've already folded half the stuff in the basket.

"Tweek is always with Craig. He spends so much of his time with that sweet boy. I think he spends just as much time at the Tuckers as he does at home." His mother informs me.

"Mom!" Tweek whines like any teenager when their parents embarass them.

"So why aren't you with Craig now?" I ask as I fold a large bedsheet.

"Ack! He's at martial arts right now. He gets off in an hour. I'll see him then."

"I didn't know he took martial arts." I comment.

"Craig's a black belt. He's in kempo kung fu. Gah!"

Tweek has an involuntary spasm, accidentally dropping the shirt in his hands. He picks  
it back up again and starts refolding it. Mrs. Tweek finishes her pile of clothing, and carries her basket with her as she walks up the stairs.

I ask Tweek, "Does she usually do stuff like this?"

"What, laundry?"

"No, I mean, take in strays."

He looks at me in confusion. I point at myself to clarify.

He shakes his head."She just likes helping people."

I nod, finished with the folding. Tweek takes the basket with him, carrying it upstairs. I'm tempted to follow, but I don't. I check the time on the clock ticking on the wall. I should probably call home again.

returns from upstairs. "Mrs.-I mean Cindy? Could I please use your phone again?"

"Of course Kenny dear." She pulls out a cell phone from her dress pocket, handing it to me.

"Thank you." I say as I again dial my home phone number.

My dad picks up. "Hello? Who's this?"

"It's Kenny."

"Kenny? You're not in your room?"

"No, I'm...at a friend's house. I'll be home soon, kay?"

"Alright. Don't wake your mother, the bitch just fell asleep again."

"I'll try not to. Bye."

"Bye." click.

"Do you want me to take you home?" Mrs. Tweek asks as I hand her back the cellphone.

"It's okay to go back now." I know it's not what she asked, but I know it's what she's really asking.

She nods her caramel colored hair moving a little with the motion. She calls up the stairs.

"Tweek! Come downstairs, pumpkin!"

Tweek appears a few moments standing at the top of the stairs.

"I'm going to take Kenny home, come with us, I'll drop you off at the dojo afterwards so you can hang out with Craig."

Tweek walks downstairs. We get our shoes on, and go outside. Mrs. Tweek drives us to my house.

"Thanks for helping with the folding Kenny dear." Mrs. Tweek tells me as I get out.

"You're welcome. Thanks for helping me out when I needed it."

I'm about to shut the car door whenTweek calls out to me.

"Gah! Erk, Kenny?" He looks at me with those lime green eyes.

"Yeah Tweek?"

"It was nice talking to you again." I wasn't expecting to hear that.

"It was nice talking to you too Tweek. I'll see you at school."

He just twitches in response. I say good bye to the Tweeks and shut the car door. I watch them drive away as I go back inside my house. After spending time in the Tweek's house, everything in my house looks even worse than it did this morning. Well that was my weekend.

On Monday at school...


	4. Chapter Four

I have a few classes with Cartman and Butters. Kyle and Stan are in every AP class together. As in, they have the exact same class schedule. The only time I see those guys at school is during lunch. My day at school usually entails me making lewd jokes that my friends barely get, just like when we were younger. I don't understand that, I mean there's nothing muffling my voice anymore, so why do they act like they can't understand me?

Being the kid in the parka for so long helped me develop my observational skills. I was never shy, but I was always quieter than my friends, and I always found myself watching everything. I like to see as much as I can when I find something interesting. I can watch everything without being biased. Well most of the time I can.

In the halls during passing period I kept a look out for Tweek Tweak. I never really paid him any attention because he and I don't travel in the same circles of friends. But once I decide to watch someone, I do it with gusto. He isn't hard to search for, his spasms and spiky blond hair make it easy to spot him in a crowd. I decide to observe as much as I can.

I notice he isn't the way I remember him when we were young. He doesn't look around in constant fear. He's not violently tremoring or spouting paranoid theories. He's confident in his stride. He has a permanent scowl on his face which he shows to anyone who looks at him the wrong way.

Everyone around seems to know not to mess with him. I notice people moving out of his way in the halls. A lot of them look scared, as if they know he could kick their asses without even having to try. Tweek doesn't seem to notice, or if he does he doesn't show it. Tweek's kind of a badass.

During lunch I always sit with Cartman and Butters and Stan and Kyle. I walk over to our table on the left side of the room, Cartman and Butters are already there, sitting next to each other. I walk over and sit down across from them.

"Hey guys." I greet them.

"Hiya Kenny!" Butters greets me as he hands me half of his sandwhich and an apple.

I'm too poor to afford the lunches at school, so Butters will share some of his with me. Cartman, however, will not.

"Hey Kenny." Cartman says around a mouthful of kfc.

"Hey what do you guys think of Tweek Tweak?" I ask.

They both stop eating and look at me in silence.

"What?" I ask.

Butters looks down and does that thing where he bumps his knuckles together when he has to talk about something he thinks he shouldn't talk about.

"Well uh, personally I think he's nice. A little stand-offish, but uh, I don't think it's his fault..."

What did Butters mean by that?

Cartman snorted. "Heh! That guy's a freak. I heard he broke a senior's arm just because the guy made fun of his hair!"

"Aw gee, he didn't really do that, did he Eric?" Butters asks Cartman.

"Hey that's just what I heard." Cartman replies.

I wondered if the fatass was making it up. But going by other student's reactions, it might be plausible that everyone assumed Tweek could be capable of doing something like that. Were they avoiding him because he exuded an aura that said: Don't mess with me? He seemed nice at home. Maybe this was just his persona at school.

Cartman gestured with his plastic fork and nodded his head in an upwards position to get my attention. He's looking behind me.

"Heads up," He begins, "Lady Gaga and Beyonce are heading over here."

I turn halfway in my seat and look behind me. I see Stan and Kyle walking over to us.

"Hey dudes." They greet the three of us in unison. Sometimes I think they're on the same mental wave length.

Cartman and Butters say hello in their own ways.

"Hey Stan." I greet him as he sits down on my right, a space between us that will soon be occupied by Kyle.

Before Kyle sits down with his tray of food I say hello to him. "Hi Kiki."

He stops before he sits down and shakes his head at me.

"Damn it, Kenny what've I told you? I hate that stupid nickname."

I know he does, and seeing Kyle get irritated so easily is one of the few joys in life I have. I'm not a sadist, but calling him Kiki and seeing him pissed off kinda makes me happy. It makes someone else happy, for an entirely different reason too.

"Dude, you know Kenny's just messing with you," Stan tells his Super-Best with a calm voice, the kind that comes from years of dealing with other peoples BS. "Just sit down." Stan finishes this by threading his fingers through one of Kyle's belt loops; pulling Kyle towards him on the bench.

Kyle rolls his eyes as Stan tugs him forward, and eventually Kyle does sit down, on Stan's left and my right.

"So what were you guys talking about?" Stan asks. I pretend I don't notice Stan rubbing his thigh against Kyle's.

Cartman replies, "Kenny was asking about Tweek."

"What! Why?" Stan exclaims, looking over to me.

"What's the big deal?" I ask him.

"Kenny, you don't ask about Tweek if you don't want trouble." Kyle said as he took a bite of his chicken salad.

"But why? I mean, I was at his house on Saturday, and everything was cool." I don't understand what everyone is freaking out about.

Kyle gasps. "You were? How'd you get inside his house?"

"His mom let me in." I answer.

"What were you doing there? Who was there?" Stan asks, the questions rapid fire.

"I was helping them fold laundry; it was just Tweek and his mom, what's the big fucking deal?"

Butters grips his water bottle. Cartman stops chewing. Stan and Kyle are staring at me. I'm starting to get sick of this.

"What?" I ask, tempted to throw my hands up in the air in a dramatic gesture.

"He doesn't know?" Butters asks Cartman.

"What don't I know?"

"Kenny, Tweek is off limits. As in, no one approaches him for any reason if they don't want their asses kicked." Cartman explains.

"Why?" I still don't understand.

"Because, dude! Tweek is Craig's. And Craig doesn't like anyone hanging around Tweek unless they're in Craig's little inner circle." Kyle elaborates.

Craig? That asshole? What did he have to do with this? And what did Kyle mean by, "Tweek is Craig's"? That makes it sound like he's Craig's possession or something.

"So are you saying, if I wanted to get to know Tweek better and be his friend; I'm screwed because Craig won't let me get within two feet of him?" I ask them all, hoping for one to clarify.

"That's exactly what I'm saying." Kyle said.

I had to wonder about that. What the hell kind of twisted, kinky relationship did those two have? And how can Craig decide who talks to Tweek or not? Cartman and Butters have stopped listening and are having a conversation about how there's supposed to be an uprising with rebels in Jordan or Egypt, or some place. Cartman likes being topical.

Kyle is just eating his salad, but Stan is looking back, and I notice a frown on his face. Stan elbows Kyle to get his attention. Kyle looks at Stan as he swallows a mouthful of chicken.

Stan leans in close and murmurs to Kyle, "Dude, I don't wanna freak you out; but that psycho French kid is staring at you."

Kyle and I turn around in our seats. Sitting at a table six feet away is Christophe, his hair dyed dark blue. He's facing us, and it's obvious he's staring at Kyle, like the redhead's the only one in the cafeteria. Even with us looking right at him, he doesn't waver his gaze at Kyle.

Kyle turns back around. "Dude, just ignore him, that's what I do."

"I can't ignore it, Kyle. This is the sixteenth time since September that I've caught him staring at you. If he does it again I'll break his fucking neck." Stan threatened.

"That's right Stan, protect your woman!" Cartman said.

"Shut up, fatass!" Stan and Kyle snapped at him at the same time.

I thought Cartman kind of had a point. Anytime someone's eyes landed on Kyle Stan would be there to stake his claim over Kyle. I didn't understand how he could be so jealous all the time when he and Kyle weren't even dating. Even though Stan acted like they were. Maybe Craig had the same kind of thing going on with Tweek. But Stan never stopped Kyle from making new friends.

Fifteen minutes later our lunch period was over. We all stood up and carried our trays to the trashcans to dump our trash. Cartman and Butters walked in front of me. I was semi-listening to Cartman tell Butters about how if he was a dictator he'd bomb his own territories if it meant wiping out the rebel-scum. Kyle was on my left, and Stan was walking behind him, no doubt checking out Kyle's infamous derriere.

As we passed Christophe's table that's when it happened. We weren't paying attention until after the fact. As Kyle walked past Christophe the dark-blue haired French kid slapped Kyle's ass with an open palm. We heard the slap, saw Kyle jerk forward in surprise. Everyone stopped walking then.

I saw Kyle looking at Christophe in surprise. The French kid looked at him with this smirk on his face. He said nothing, just winked at Kyle. Then he actually had the audacity to make lewd kissing sounds at Kyle. Kyle did nothing but blush furiously at the attention the French kid was giving him.

I had to pull Stan away from there, he had fire in his eyes and was shouting at Christophe things about him asking to get his ass kicked, how if he ever pulled that kind of shit again he'd kill him and stick his head on the flag pole. Cartman had laughed about the whole thing, and Butters was consoling the shell-shocked Kyle, patting his back and leading him away. It's times like these I'm glad I'm not Kyle. At least I don't get molested and sexually harassed by a weirdo French kid who carries a shovel with him where ever he went. As we walked out, I noticed Craig, Tweek, Token and Clyde entering the cafeteria for their own lunch period.

Out in the hall I let go of Stan's arms as soon as he stopped thrashing around so he could run to Kyle and talk to him. I could still see inside the cafeteria, and I saw Token and Clyde talking to each other in the lunch line. But they weren't what I was interested in. I looked for Craig and Tweek. I found them, talking to each other off to the side.

Craig was still the tallest out of the four of those guys, and he towered over Tweek. He still wore a blue chullo and black dress pants. Over his long-sleeved dark blue shirt he wore a dark blue Mexican poncho that was cut at the bottom in a triangle shape with fringes trailing the edges. He was muscular in a lean, compact way that came from doing martial arts. I could see the grim expression he wore as he talked to Tweek.

I couldn't hear what they were talking about, but I could see the reaction Craig had on Tweek. Tweek wasn't the badass he was when he was alone in the halls. He wasn't casual but twitchy like he had been last Saturday. He was completely submissive and quiet in Craig's presence. He had his head bowed down, hands pulling at his black shirt.

What the hell was going on? I saw Tweek pull his head up, trying to talk to Craig. They seemed to be having an argument over something. Craig looked apathetic, but his body language said he was pissed off. They noticed that I was staring at them.

Tweek flinched when he saw me. Craig glared at me with cold eyes. Token and Clyde came over to them. I felt a strange weight on my chest when they noticed me too. Tweek gave me a sad look as Clyde and Token led him over to their table. Before he joined them, Craig flipped me off as he kept glaring at me before he walked over to his friends.

It was suffocating out in that hall. I felt this heavy heat on my face, and this need to run away. My friends had already gone off to their next classes, and I had to rush to avoid being late. For the rest of the day I wondered what the hell had just happened. I had wanted to talk to Tweek because he seemed cool at his house.

I wanted to be his friend. But Craig made it very clear that wasn't happening. I didn't think it was fair. But then most of the things in my life weren't fair. I thought about this as I was working at the Pick-and Save, stocking the shelves with canned salsa.

I didn't have to wear a uniform, just an orange apron and nametag. My back hurt from lifting heavy boxes of canned food and the fluorescent lights were way too bright. I came here every day after school and worked for four hours. In this crappy economy it's the best I can do. But I got paid double for working eight hours on Sunday so it was fine.

I couldn't wait for my break when I could do my homework. My grades were starting to suffer as a result of my new job. Not that they were stellar to begin with. But I had to study sometime, or run the risk of having no future. I think I can do better than this job; but I'll never know if I don't graduate.

I stood on my tip toes to reach a high shelf, the aisle was completely deserted. As soon as I was done stocking the high shelf with medium-spicy salsa someone tapped me on the shoulder when I had my feet planted on the ground. I was expecting a customer with a question, or my manager come to tell me I had a truck to unload. I relaxed as much as I could before I turned around to face the person who had tapped my shoulder. Imagine my surprise at finding Tweek Tweak standing in front of me.


	5. Chapter Five

"Uhhh...hi."

Tweek nodded. "Hi."

We just stood there in aisle 7 looking at each other. Neither of us really knew what to say; and the awkward silence that ensued wasn't making it any easier. After just looking at each other without going past the initial hellos, he finally spoke again.

"I wanted to apologize for earlier. I saw Craig flip you off, and he shouldn't have done that. You didn't do anything to deserve it."

"Oh. Um, thanks, I guess. It's probably not my place, but were you two arguing about something?"

"Urgh! Yes. We were arguing about-oh Jesus, this is too much pressure-about you."

I'm a little stunned. "Me? What the hell did I do?"

Tweek started pacing in front of me. "Ah! Y-you didn't do anything! But Craig,he was pissed off that you were at my house alone with me. Oh God! I didn't mean for it to sound like that! I mean yeah my mom was there; but he's pissed that you were at my house at all!"

I get it. It didn't take a genius to figure out that Craig was the jealous type. I started finishing up my work, gesturing to Tweek to let him know that it was okay for him to continue.

"I tried explaining to him that you and I weren't doing anything wrong, but he wouldn't listen. Ergh, he's so stubborn sometimes!" Tweek's fingers went up in his hair to tug at the roots briefly.

"So what did he say?" I ask as I put up the last can.

"He forbade me from ever talking to you again." He says as his hands go back down to his sides again.

I turn around to face him, disbelieving. "He didn't!"

Tweek nods his head. "He did!"

What the hell? Did Craig have some mental illness that made him think it was okay to order people around? What kind of friend does that? Is he really that possessive and controlling? Something hit me.

"Wait. If Craig forbade you from talking to me, what are you doing here?"

Tweek grinned. "Going against orders."

I grinned back. "Defiance. I like it."

I remembered I was still on the clock, and therefore could not get caught just standing around talking. I led Tweek to the next aisle so I could begin checking prices.

"So," Tweek began as he looked at the different brands of oatmeal; "After the whole "Forbidding" thing happened, I started to get angry. Craig doesn't own me or control me. I'm not his toy; he can't tell me what I can and can't do."

"Damn straight! You're your own person, nothing can change that. I think it sucks that he's trying to keep you from becoming my friend. After all, I'm awesome."

Tweek rolled his eyes. "I'm sure you are. But that's beside the point. I'm tired of being under Craig's thumb all the time."

"So why are you?"

His wide lime green eyes flicked up to mine as we stood in the middle of the aisle. I realized I had asked something I shouldn't have.

"I'm sor-"

"It's cool." Tweek said with a wave of his hand. "To be honest, I'm not sure myself. I've spent years developing my own brand of confidence, and it all seems to disappear whenever I'm around him. I can't explain it, but when I'm with Craig I just revert back to the way I was when I was younger."

I listen to him try to explain the dynamics of his relationship with Craig. I sort of understood it, and again I didn't. I knew everything there was to know about sex, but this was something beyond my Ken. And GI Joe. This was beyond all my action figures. Whatever it was he and Craig had going on was something complicated that I don't think I'd ever understand.

I placed my price gun back into the pocket of my apron. "So where's Craig now?"

"He's Gah! At work. That's why I was able to come over." His cell phone made a little ringing noise.

He took it out and flipped it open. He looked at the screen sighed.

"What's wrong?"

He hands me his phone and I read the message: From:Craig:Where are you?

"If I don't answer he'll send fifty more." Tweek explained.

As he quickly sent him a text I kept a look out for any managers that might be lurking around.

I turned my attention back to him. "Hey Tweek?"

He looks back up at me. "Auh?"

"I want to be your friend. I think you're cool."

He puts his phone away and smiles. "I want to be your friend too. But it's gonna be difficult. I'm sort of with Craig 24/7 and that'll make it hard for us to actually hang out."

"So what do you suggest we do?"

Tweek pulled at his hair again "Ah! Too much pressure! I hadn't planned this far!"

"Can I have your phone?"

"Huh? Sure." He hands it over to me.

I put my home phone number into his contacts list. While doing so I noticed that Craig was number one on his speed dial. I hand his cell back to him.

"I added my home phone number to your contacts list. Just give me a call when you can."

"Thanks. I should go, Craig'll blow a nut if I'm not at Harbucks to meet him when his shift ends."

"He works at your parent's coffee house?"

"Of course he does."

He didn't elaborate any further than that. I didn't think he needed to.

"I'll see you later, and I'll nngh! try calling tonight. See you Kenny." He turns and starts walking towards the exit.

"See you. Oh, Tweek, wait! I wanna ask you something!"

He stops to turn back to me. "What is it?"

How to ask this? "Um, I heard that you broke a senior's arm just because he made fun of your hair. It's not...true, is it?"

He looks at me blankly for a few seconds. His mouth curves up into a smile.

"Of course not. I never broke anyone's arm."

I sigh in relief. He turns and walks away.

"I just dislocated it." he calls behind him.

When I get off work I walk home, completely exhausted. I miss the times when I could just hang around town or play with my friends. As I cross over the train tracks I hear something crunching beneath me. Looking down I see that I've just crunched a dead white mouse underfoot. I can't help but throw up.

I enter my house and hear the sounds of my parents screaming. For once I'd like to come home to parents who don't fight all of the time. I try to sneak away to my room, but I don't get that far before my mom spots me.

"And there's the other little brat! Comes and goes as he pleases, just like his worthless piece of shit father!" She gulps down more of the vodka.

I'm forced to stand there and listen to her ranting. She's slurring her words, swaying around. When is she gonna pass out?

Dad walks in from the kitchen. "I go where I want because I don't wanna be tied down to your skanky ass, you dumb slut!"

"Fuck you, Stewart! You're nothing but a failure! That's all you'll ever be!" She takes a swing at him and starts landing punches.

"Shut up, bitch! Maybe if you'd sober up more you could actually do something with your life, instead of wasting it!" He hits her back, shoving her away from him.

"The only thing I'm wasting is my time with you, you moron! KENNY!"

I had been attempting to sneak away to my room, but I stopped and walked back to where they were.

"You get paid yet?" She asks in her southern accent thick voice.

"No, I-"

"What?" My dad interrupts.

"I said, no, I-"

My mother cuts me off. "You haven't gotten paid yet?" she laughs this short, mean laugh.

"You hear that Stewart? Little brat hasn't gotten his paycheck yet."

"Well what the hell do you think we're doing keeping you here?" My dad asks as he smacks my head with one hand, his other hand currently holding a beer can.

My dad continues, "You better start bringing home some money for us, or we'll throw you you out on the street!"

"The only reason you have a job is to support this family. And you'd better start soon, because your pathetic excuse of a dad isn't cutting it!"

"Fuck you, Carol!" My dad yelled as he tried to punch her again.

I wanted to tell them that I got paid every two weeks, and only the first week had passed. But they wouldn't listen. They never listen. I grab the home phone off it's charger when they're not looking and place it under my ratty sweater. As I escape down the hall to my room I hear my mother yelling at me.

"What good are you? What good are you to us? You're just a disappointment, you worthless little shit!"

I can't get my bedroom door open fast enough. The rats seem to know I'm in no mood to be messed with and they scurry away. I rush to my bed and lie down; curling on my side. I don't have the energy to take my backpack off yet. I pull the phone out from my sweater and place it on my pillow near my head.

I try to catch my breath, the encounter with my parents has got my heart beating in my ears. As I lay on my left side I start to think about how I am right now. I'm tired, and I'm hungry and I'm cold and I'm terrified and I have never felt more miserable. I remember how Tweek had come to visit me at work despite Craig's orders. That had been the best part of my day.

He hadn't treated me like I was a drone who's only function was to work. He didn't look at me like I was just the neighborhood poor kid who was obsessed with the female body. He treated me like a normal person. Like I wasn't an oddity or a waste of space. That felt good.

I waited two hours until the phone rang. I couldn't have answered it quick enough.

"Ah! Is this Kenny?"

I smile. "Yeah. Hi Tweek."

"AH! H-hi. I would have called earlier, but Craig just left."

"He's really monopolizing you, isn't he?"

"You have no idea. So what's up?"

My stomach starts growling. "Not much. You?"

"Finishing homework."

"I should probably get started on mine."

"You haven't started it yet? What have you been doing all day?"

I thought about telling him that I had been waiting for him to call; but decided that it made me sound like a girl with a crush, which I most definitely was not.

"Just hanging out, relaxing. So, we should probably start getting to know each other better if we're going to be friends."

"What'd you have in mind?"

"Let's start with the basics: Favorite color, food, subject in school?"

"Oh Jesus, that is way too much pressure! Um, I guess ergh...green, pizza, and American Government."

I take off my backpack and sit up on my bed. "Why American Government?"

"It's an easy subject for me 's no pressure in that class."

"Hmmm." All my classes stressed me out.

"What about you?"

"Orange, macaroni and cheese, and History. I've got a thing for memorizing monarch's names."

It went on like that, for about three hours, him and I comparing likes and dislikes, facts about our lives, what we did after school every day. It was nice, just talking. While we got to know each other I finished my homework.

"Hey Kenny, hold on for a sec, my mom wants to talk to me."

While I waited I could hear my mom and dad snoring in their room.

"Kenny? Mom wants to know when your next day off is."

"Wednesday. Why?"

"She wants you to have dinner with us. Do you wanna?"

I remembered Tweek's mom, remembered how nice she was, how kind and generous. She was nothing like my own mother, and for that I liked her immensely.

"Sure, that sounds great. But what about Craig?"

"He's got martial arts practice on Wednesday and Saturday nights. I think we'll be fine."

"If you say so."

"We have dinner around seven. Do you need my mom to pick you up?"

"No, I can walk. I better get some sleep, I'll see you tomorrow Tweek."

"Urgh! See you tomorrow Kenny. Bye."

"Bye." click.

The next day at school I notice Cartman and Butters are missing. When I ask the other students if they know anything about it, they all give the same answer. They have no idea. I look around for Tweek, and find him in Craig's company. When I try to walk over to him Craig flips me off and leads him away before Tweek sees me.

I spend free period with Kyle in the back stairwell. We're in that platform part, inbetween the stairs going up to the second level; and the ones going down to the first floor.

"Hey where's Stan?" I ask Kiki.

Kiki has a pen in his mouth as he looks down at his notes. "He's making up an english test. I told him studying was more important than the season finale of House, but he wouldn't listen." He takes the pen out of his mouth.

"Nope. No one ever listens to Kiki." I grin at him.

Kiki scowls at me. "What have I told you about calling me Kiki?"

I pretend to think. "To do it?"

Kyles glares at me in warning. "Kenny..."

"Oh, I remember! You said not to call you by your stripper name on school grounds." I know it's mean, but I can't help but snicker.

He smacks me on the arm. "I'm serious. And you know damn well I would not pick "Kiki" as my stripper name."

"Of course you wouldn't "Cinnamon"."

He sticks his tongue out at me.

"I think I liked you better when the parka muffled your speech." He says.

We sit on the platform, and between talking we actually manage to get some studying done.

"Hey, so guess what?" I ask him.

"What?" Kiki asks.

"I'm friends with Tweek."

This gets his attention. "How?"

"He came to visit me at work yesterday. He told me he wants to be friends. We're going to get to know each other over the phone, and we'll figure out how to spend time together when Craig's not around. It's great, isn't it?"

"No it isn't great! Sneaking around is never good, and what are you going to do when Craig finds out?"

"He's not gonna find out. We're going to be careful and cover our tracks."

"Kenny, Craig's going to kill you, and he WILL find out. He's in most of my AP classes, he's smarter than you're giving him credit for."

If he does kill me it won't matter, I'll just come back.

"Maybe. But Tweek approached me, and I won't turn him away. He's actually going against Craig to be friends with me. Yes I have to sneak around, but I think it'll be worth it."

Kyle shakes his head. "Be careful. You're getting in pretty deep by just agreeing to being his friend."

"I'll be fine. We should put our stuff up; free period's almost over."

We stuff our notebooks and pens and pencils and textbooks back in our backpacks. We stand up, swinging our backpacks over our shoulders. After sitting down so long we stretch our arms above our heads. Kyle's closer to the staircase leading upstairs and I'm on his left. When we're done stretching I turn to look at him, about to say something about him buying lunch for me.

Out of nowhere came Christophe, jumping down from the upper level staircase. Needless to say he caught us both by surprise. He smirked as he eyed us. With amazing agility he snuck behind Kyle and covered his eyes with his black leather fingerless gloves. I watched, mesmerized.

The dark blue haired Frenchman whispered hotly against Kyle's ear. Standing so close, I heard what he said as he held Kyle against him; his hands still covering his eyes.

"Ma belle red head. Je tiens a faire l'amour pour vous toute la nuit. Je tiens a vous faire mine."

The bell rang, telling us to go to our next classes.

Christophe leaned closer into Kyle. "Jusqu'a nous reunissons de nouveau, mon chaton."

After he said that he kissed Kyle's cheek affectionately. He removed his hands from Kyle's face and ran downstairs; jumping down he last three steps and disappearing from view, hidden in the crowds of students that were filling the halls. I looked over at my friend. He was standing there, stunned. He said nothing.

I stepped closer to him. "Kyle? You okay?"

Instead of answering he slumps back against the wall. He brings his hand to his face and touches the spot where Christophe's lips had been. He smiled this slow, shaky smile that reached his eyes.

"Wow..."

For the first time in my life I don't know what to say.


	6. Chapter Six

On Wednesday night I walked over to Tweek's for dinner with his family. For the first time in January the weather is suitable, in other words I'm not freezing with each step I take. As I walk on the sidewalk I take note of how the snow on the ground is actually melting for once. I left my house at six thirty, and arrived on the Tweek's doorstep. I rang the doorbell, and waited to be let in.

While I waited I couldn't stop the nervousness that grew inside wasn't like dinner with the guys, this was... my first dinner with someone else's family one on one. I decided to be myself because I wanted his parents to like me for who I really was. I think his mother liked me for who I really was. I hoped she did.

Speaking of, Mrs. Tweek opened the door.

"Hello Kenny dear! I'm glad you're here." She was beaming.

I smiled politely. "Hi Cindy."

"Come in, Kenny dear. Dinner's almost ready."

She stepped aside so I could walk in. She shut and locked the door after I was inside. The house was still the same as it had been the last time I was here. The warm golden ambiance of the house had the same effect on me as it did last time; I felt warm and safe. There was a delicious aroma wafting through the living room that came from the kitchen.

I stood in the entryway, not really sure what to do with myself. Mrs. Tweek gave me one last smile before she walked off to the kitchen. A middle aged man wearing a maroon pull-over and navy slacks and brown loafers got up from the couch and walked over to me.

"You must be Tweek's new friend Kenny. I'm Richard Tweek, the boy's father."

"Hello sir. Good to meet you." Again.

"Call me Richard." He said.

I wondered if he'd remember one of the kids he tried to use in his campaign to run Harbuck's coffee out of town.

"Have a seat, Kenny." Richard said, gesturing towards the couch.

I didn't think he remembered. Or if he did he didn't say anything. As I sat down on the couch Richard sat in the easy chair. He looked nothing like Tweek, the man had small brown eyes, light brown short curly hair, and a more rounded nose. I supposed Tweek took after his mother.

We watched a news program that was currently doing a story on Turkey expelling three Israeli diplomats.

Tweek walked in from the kitchen wearing a green apron that was covered in different sauces and flour.

"Urgh! Hi Kenny."

"Hey Tweek. Are you cooking?"

"More like helping and watching. I needed a break though. How are you?"

I shrugged. "I'm good. You?"

"I'm alright. GAH! I need to take this apron off!"

He took off his apron, balling it up he went into a back room where I assumed they did their laundry. He came back sans apron and sat next to me. While we waited for dinner to be ready we watched the Turkish Prime Minister making a speech about the relationship between Turkey and Israel.

Mrs. Tweek came around the corner wiping her hands on a dish cloth.

"Dinner's ready. I hope you're all hungry." she announced.

We followed her into the dining room. I sat across from Tweek; his parents sat at the opposite ends of the table. We ate what I considered to be a delicious, fantastic duck a l'orange with sugar snap peas, brown rice and sliced almonds. While we ate, Mr. Tweek decided to interview me.

"So Kenny, I understand you and Tweek go to the same school. Why have we never had you over before?"

I looked over to Mr. Tweek, and answered, "Well, Tweek and I travel in different circles of friends."

"So it was just chance that led to you becoming friends with him?"

"Richard!" Mrs. Tweek reprimanded.

"Something like that. I prefer to think of it as the universe stepping in to introduce me to someone cool." I look over at Tweek who smiles and twitches in appreciation.

"So Kenny, what do you do after school?" his father asks me.

"I work at the Pick-and-Save part-time. Then after that I just hang with my friends if they're available."

"Work and socializing, hmm? That's very good. Tweek is the same."

"Not nearly the same dad," Tweek interjects, "It's not really socializing when you just hang out with the same three guys you've been hanging out with since the age of nine."

I look him in the eye. "I couldn't agree more. I think it's important to get to know new people."

He smiles as he takes a bite of the duck.

His mother speaks up, "Does everyone like the food?"

We all spoke in the affirmative, praising the wonderful taste.

She twirled her fork in the air. "I'm glad. It makes it worthwhile to know people enjoy my cooking."

Her husband said,"It's sweet, honey. Sweet like honeysuckle drenched in morning dew on a calm spring morning."

"Dad." Tweek said.

"Huh?"

"Remember the rule about no metaphors during dinner with company?" he asked.

"Oh, sorry. So Kenny, do you have any hobbies?" By this time he had turned his attention back to me.

I knew I had a blank look on my face but it couldn't be helped. "Hobbies?"

Mr. Tweek explained, "You know, things you like to do for fun in your spare time."

I thought about asking if masturbating to Playboys from the eighties in my room late at night counted; but then thought better of it.

I shake my head. "Not really, no."

"Well that's alright." He replied.

From his tone of voice it didn't sound like it was okay. Mrs. Tweek calmly ate, not showing much interest in her husband's questioning. I looked over at Tweek who had his head in his hand, looking down at his plate. It was obvious his father was embarassing him; if his body language was anything to go by. I thought about saying that working and trying to keep my grades up so I could stay in school was what was keeping me from finding outside interests.

"Tweek sweetie, how was your day?" his mother asked.

"BWAHH!" He shrieked.

"That's nice. Did you get your homework finished?"

I think she understands her son's non-words better than anyone.

"Y-yeah. I finished it on my way to work today." He let out a half-choked little "nrh" sound, twirling his fork on the last piece of duck.

"Kenny dear, how do you like school?" Mrs. Tweek asked me.

"I like it a lot. It gets me out of the house, which is something I can't get enough of."

Richard spoke up. "Well do you know what you plan on doing after school?"

"Dad!" Tweek admonished.

"What? All I want to know is if he's got any plans. A boy's future is important; I'm just curious if he knows what he plans on doing after he graduates." Mr. Tweek explained.

"Really Richard, you don't have to interrogate the dear boy." his wife told him.

I decided to say what was on my mind.

"To be honest sir, I'm so preoccupied with work and keeping my grades up I don't have much time for anything that requires thought beyond just what I have to do on a day-to-day basis. I'm not sure what I want to do after I graduate; right now I'm just trying to focus on getting that diploma."

Mrs. Tweek is smiling so sweetly at me. My own mother would have rolled her eyes at my words. Tweek is looking at me with interest. His father doesn't look impressed.

"Hmm. I suppose everyone does everything on their own time." Richard said.

Tweek rolled his eyes dramatically and pushed his plate away before slamming his head on the table in frustration.

Mrs. Tweek waved a cloth napkin at her side briefly. "Who wants dessert?"

Tweek and I sat on two of the white sugar cube shaped ottomans, our Greek coffee on saucers on the coffee table. Mrs. Tweek had given us something called Baklava; and I had to admit I liked it. Mrs. Tweek sat on the couch, reading a newspaper; the television turned off. Mr. Tweek turned on a small music player, and I recognized the aria.

"Con te partiro?" I say, looking up. I'd remember Bocelli anywhere.

Everyone looks at me in surprise.

"You know opera?" Tweek asks.

I nod. "Just what I can remember."

"What do you mean? Erk!" His eyelid shuts by itself for the briefest of moments before returning to normal.

His parents are silently watching, waiting for me to explain.

I face them all, after drinking some more of the Greek coffee.

"Well, when I was eight I busked my way to a conservatory in Romania."

Mr. Tweek leans forward. "Really now? And who took you?"

"My mother. Back then she was very supportive, and I wanted to become a real singer. So I took lessons and performed for a short time."

An extremely short time. I'll never forgive the idiots who accidentally filled me full of lead as I hid in a closet. Looking back on it my mother was supportive of my goal, but she was clever to figure out I could use my voice to earn money for the family; and I'd earn more if I was classically trained. Of course the reason I wanted to be a good singer in the first place was to help my friends out. When I had eventually returned to South Park I was disappointed my newly accquired skills were no longer needed.

"So what happened?" Tweek asked before biting down into the baklava.

I look down briefly before returning to look at him. "I had to go home. my dad missed me and my mom." It's sort of the truth.

"Kenny dear I'm impressed. Do you like opera now that you're older?" His mother asks, putting her newspaper away.

"It's been so long since I've listened to it. But yes, I do like opera. The music is...breath taking." I smile to myself as I enjoy the words sweep over me.

Mr. Tweek said, "You haven't sung in that style since you were small, have you?"

"No, I haven't." I reply.

"Urgh! Do you think you'd ever consider taking up singing opera again?" Tweek asks.

I consider it. When I had sung on the stage in Romania to the praise of the people there I felt this huge sense of accomplishment. Back then I had really enjoyed the accolades and the roses that were thrown at my feet. But most of all, I loved that beautiful music.

"I'd really like to start singing again. but its' been so long, I don't know if I'd be any good."

"I think you could always pick up where you left off. If you like AH! doing something, why not return to it?"

Tweek made a good point. I'd love to sing again. But right now in my life I don't think it's a possibility.

"Do you sing?" I ask him.

His eyes get wider, if that's possible. He shivers and shakes his head.

"Jesus Christ, now way, man! Singing is way too much pressure! I just like to keep the beat." He relaxed and his eyes went back to their normal size.

I wondered what he meant. Tweek spoke at a normal level for any teen our age, it was just when he went off on a paranoid tangent did his tone seem to rise in pitch.

"I agree with Tweek, Kenny." His father told me, "If you have a skill, it's best to hone it and make the most with what you have."

I suppose he was right. I looked at the clock on the wall. I'd have to head home. I said goodbye to his parents in the living room; Richard saying that I should really think about what I wanted to do with my life, and Cindy smiling serenely, telling me she was very happy that I was here, and asking if I was full. When I told her yes, and thanked her for the amazing food she gave me a small hug that held all the warmth my own mother lacked.

Tweek showed me to the door. Before he opened it we stood there, talking for a bit.

"Sorry about my dad, he tends to get carried away sometimes." Tweek says with a sigh.

"It's alright. This was fun, we should do this again sometime."

"With your family?" He asks me, shifting his weight from his left foot to his right.

Oh god, no. There is no way I'm exposing my new friend to that horror story of a house. Not to mention I'd have to hide my porn stash; and it's hard to clean a house with drunkards on the floor.

"That's not a good idea, they're not exactly the best hosts." I explain.

Tweek understands, and opens the door for me.

"Thanks for coming to dinner." he says as I step outside.

"Thanks for having me over. Will you call me on the phone later?"

He shakes his head. "I'm supposed to call Craig tonight. He has a tournament on Saturday, and he says he likes talking to me after his training."

Did he know everything about Craig? Did Craig know everything about him? I wondered what it would be like, to be that close to someone.

"I'll see you later. Bye Tweek."

"Nnngh! Bye Kenny." He shuts the door.

Walking home alone in the dark gave me time to think. This whole secret friendship thing would work out well if we were careful, and stuck to a schedule. It'd be a lot easier if I could afford a cell phone instead of waiting at home to talk to him. But I enjoyed listening to his theories of government agencies conspiring with the film industry to put subliminal messages in the movies, or how there's always a possibility the worst possible outcome could come true. He explained more than once on the phone that it wasn't pessimism that fueled the paranoid fire; just a wandering mind.

As I got closer to my house I accidentally slipped on a patch of ice, landing on my back. I cursed under my breath, feeling the pain from my fall. I struggled to get up, to end up flat on my back again. Closing my eyes in frustration for a short moment. I open my eyes to see a large icicle on a weak tree branch fall off, piercing my heart.

I feel cold pain, the thick piece of ice stuck in my heart. I don't think I've died from an icicle falling into my heart before. As I die I feel the night air of South Park getting colder, freezing my almost corpse. I don't have long before I'm in hell, the flames a big comfort compared to the eternal freeze of my hometown. I spend all of Thursday in hell enjoying the lava lakes and the luaus.

On Friday I wake up in the early morning back on the ice patch outside. Some time ago I figured out how to control how I returned to earth. I think my mom is glad I learned how to come back without using her to give birth to me again. I managed it once, when Chef almost married a succubus. It doesn't matter that I've been gone for a whole day when no one remembers I've died.

But no one was around to see me die. So does it count? I manage to get up on my feet, away from that damn ice patch. I head home to shower and go to school. Friday manages to be an alright day for me; and as I work at my part-time job I consider taking singing lessons again.


	7. Chapter Seven

Since Tweek was spending Saturday in Boulder with Craig at some martial arts tournament, I decided to spend some time with my own friends. I left my house at eleven and walked over to Stan's new house. When I arrived, Kyle answered the door wearing nothing but a pair of boxers.

He looked awake, and just scratched the side of his nose as he said "Hey" and let me in, shutting the door behind us. Stan walked in from the kitchen in nothing but boxers too, carrying a bowl of cereal with him. My two friends sat on the couch, thighs, arms, sides touching.

I opted to pick an orange from the bowl of fruit on the end table and peeled and ate it as I sat on the other side of the couch, no one's body pressed against mine.

We spent some time in silence on the couch until Kyle spoke to me while Stan ate his cereal.

"I told him what you told me, about you being friends with Tweek in secret." Kyle said.

Of course he did. I should have seen that coming; those two tell each other everything. They're both yentas in that sense; they know everyone's business.

I look at him. "And what? He thinks it's a bad idea too?"

"Craig's gonna kill you when he finds out." Stan said with a mouthful of Special K.

"Do you two share a brain or something?" I ask them both, pointing at the two of them.

Proving my assumption right they both roll their eyes and shake their heads and scoff simultaneously. These guys are seriously scary sometimes.

"We just don't think it's such a good idea for you to risk your neck by being friends with Tweek." Kyle explained as Stan kept eating.

"Oh please, you two used to be friends with him when we were little!" I exclaim.

Stan gets up to put his dishes up. "That was BEFORE Craig decided to make Tweek his favorite person and word spread that anyone who got anywhere near Tweek would be slaughtered," he says as he walks to the kitchen.

While Stan was rinsing his dishes Kyle turned towards me.

"We're your friends, Kenny. We're just worried about you." He told me.

"I appreciate the concern, really, but you have nothing to worry about."

Kyle looked at me like he didn't believe me, but he said nothing.

Stan walks back from the kitchen and sits down next to Kyle again, absolutely no space between them. Since I'm a little tired from the walk over, I decide to sit in silence with them for a few moments, watching the food channel which- when you're like me and starving all the time- is visual porn for someone who never has enough to eat at home. When the second commercial ends I ask them the question that's been bugging me since I was let in.

"So are you two gonna tell me why Kyle answered the door in his boxers?" I ask, keeping my eyes on Rachael Ray and her thirty minute meals.

Stan answered. "He spent the night, and we're too lazy to put on clothes."

I looked over at them. "So you two slept together like that?"

Kyle looks at me and says "Of course."

I ask "In the same bed?"

"I always sleep in Stan's bed. Not a big deal." Kyle told me before getting up.

I watched Stan's eyes follow Kyle's form as he disappeared upstairs claiming the need to brush his teeth. Stan then looked at me with this mischievous grin. I took the bait.

"Are you happy?"

He nods. "I have him walking around in my house in my boxers while my mom and Shelley are at out in Denver for the entire day. I'm ecstatic."

"Why your boxers?"

"I stole his while he was in the shower and gave him mine when he came back out."

I raise an eyebrow at that statement.

"What?"

"Stan if you weren't my friend I'd be completely disgusted with your behavior."

He rolls his eyes. "Like you're some model of decency, you used to get high off cat piss."

At least I can use the defense of being an idiotic nine-year old back then. Right now Stan's a seventeen year-old who stole his best friend's boxers to do God knows what with them. Between him and the Mole I think Kyle has the most perverted suitors ever; and that's saying something for this town. Stan brushes his greasy black hair and lets out a sigh, his attention back on the food network. A thought occurs to me.

"So are you and Kyle?"

He shakes his head and divides his attention between me and a promo for Top Chef.

"I wish."

"I knew you liked him! That's why every time someone comes sniffing around you automatically pull him away!"

He sighs. "Kenny, I've been in love with him for a long time. But it doesn't seem like he feels the same way."

"How do you know? I mean have you even asked him?"

When he says nothing I know the answer is no.

"Stan stop being a total pussy and just…tell him how you feel. It's not like either of you are straight or seeing other people."

I decide not to mention Christophe, because I'm not sure what's going on with that.

He throws a pear at me. "I'm not a pussy." He mutters.

"So tell Kyle that you're into him; if it isn't already completely obvious to him already."

I start eating the pear as Kyle comes back down the stairs. He goes into the kitchen for a while and returns to the living room with some toast smothered in peanut butter and a glass of milk; taking his seat next to Stan. And of course Stan won't tell him anything now. I hope he will, eventually. If not Christophe might get to Kyle before Stan does. And since I've been friends with Stan since the age of four along with Kyle, I'm on his side.

Just like every single time I hang out with them, nothing happens. Absolutely fucking. Nothing. Watching the clock on the wall gave me a pretty good idea that the three of us had done nothing but sit on the couch watching TV for the past few hours. Literally we've done nothing all day.

God, I miss the days when we'd go out, travel the world, have adventures and piss off celebrities. But my death rate has gone down significantly since my friends' new sedentary lifestyles, so there's a balance. But DEAR LORD am I bored right now!

I look over at Stan and Kyle to see those two have no problem invading each other's personal space. I don't even think that term exists with them. Kyle's head is on Stan's shoulder, Stan's arm is wrapped around his waist, and his right hand holding the remote is resting on the arm of the couch. Their legs, I swear are intertwined. But then these two have never had any problems showing physical affection for each other.

Stan's been channel surfing for a while, and the bastard skipped past a female full-frontal nude scene. I've known them long enough to know that Stan will want to watch Deadliest Warrior. While Kyle, cool nerd that he is will be more interested in watching Mythbusters. Right now we're watching neither, and some weird anime with wolves running around in human form with some Mary Sue who was genetically bred from fucking flowers is on. What the hell am I watching?

Stan leans his head on top of Kyle's and I hear him ask his Super-Best

"What do you wanna watch?"

Kyle answers, "Doesn't really matter to me."

And then they both return to just watching the anime. God, I wanna tear my hair out in frustration. I kind of understand Tweek's desire to pull his hair every now and then. It's not like I have somewhere to be; or I demand my friends' entertain me. But Christ, hanging with these two has never been this boring.

Just sitting here doing nothing is completely frustrating. I can't take this, doing nothing is driving me crazy. One of the reasons I hang out with Cartman, as much of an egotistical sociopath that he is, is that he's always got something planned to do. I need to do something, anything. If I stay on this couch any longer my spine will fuse itself to the cushions.

I jump up like I'm on fire and stand up, facing them.

"Alright, that's it I can't take it anymore!" I exclaim.

Stan and Kyle look up at me with blank faces.

"What do you mean dude?" Stan asked.

"This! I can't just sit here anymore doing nothing! It's driving me insane!"

"Kenny, it's alright." Kyle said.

"No it isn't! What the hell happened to you two? You're like some...old married couple! You used to do stuff and now all you guys do is sit on the couch all day watching TV! What the fuck?"

The two of them look at each other; I'm sure having a mental conversation about it.

Kyle looks back at me, sitting up a bit.

"Well...Kenny it's not like we're doing this on purpose. Stan and I are so swamped with school and work and extra-curricular activities."

Stan jumps in to finish the explanation.

"Yeah dude, we're both working hard and whenever we can, we like to have down time like this."

Kyle continued, "It isn't that we're trying to be lazy, it's just on our days off we like to take it easy."

I look at the two of them, so in sync with each other. So calm and understanding. I sigh in defeat, and slump back onto the couch. So that's why these two never did anything when I hung out with them on their days off. But hey I work too; at least I try to stay active.

I look back over at them. They're doing that thing where they have a private conversation while there's someone else in the room. God they are so married. Kyle and Stan face me. Stan speaks in that diplomatic voice of his.

"Kenny, we've talked it over, and you're right. We have gotten into a routine. If we're not careful, we could end up being more boring and dull than we have any right to be."

"Yeah, besides we have plenty of time for that. When we're in our forties and we're totally old." Kyle added.

"So we're gonna try to be more...what's the word I'm looking for Kyle?"

"Active." Kyle responded.

I turned my body towards them, leaning forward, placing my hands on my knees.

I ask them "What'd you have in mind?"

They look taken aback. They sit up a bit more, backs straight.

"You mean do something right now?" Stan asked, voice cracking in the middle.

I guess I gave them a look that said yes, because Kiki was tapping on Stan's shoulder to get his attention again. Stan turned his head back to the right to see what he wanted.

"Dude, there's a Vintage Stock that just opened in the mall where that stupid as hell Aeropostale used to be. We should go check it out." Kiki said.

I had no idea what he was talking about. "What's Vintage Stock?"

"It's this awesome store; they sell comic books, cds, dvds, vhs, video games, posters. It's all rare vintage stuff you wouldn't be able to find anywhere else. It's really cool, dude!" Kiki explained.

"Do they have recent stuff?" Stan asked.

"I think so." Kyle replied.

"Sounds good to me." I said.

"Well Kenny do you really wanna go there? I mean we can find something to do that doesn't involve...you know, money." Stan said.

I wanted nothing more than to punch him out. Damn! I had forgotten for a moment that unlike them I didn't have money to burn. I had to save everything I got, and payday was coming up soon. But that money would go towards helping my family. It really does suck being poor.

Kiki shook his head. "He doesn't have to spend any money, we can just look around."

I smiled in satisfaction. Stan and Kyle stood up to get dressed. Stan was up the stairs first, Kiki following.

"We'll be ready in a few." Stan called.

I stood up and stretched, rolling my head from side to side. I decided to use the bathroom before we left. Stan's mom may be the biggest buzz kill on earth, but this cherry scented liquid soap she buys smelled amazing. I step back into the living room and stand near the door, watching the two of them return downstairs.

Stan with his straight black hair swept to the side like the emo he is, wore a black hoodie and a dark blue shirt and black pants with a black belt lined with silver studs and black combat boots. He wore this silver necklace with a silver authentic looking bat charm that Kyle had gotten him for Christmas. He came down the stairs and I noticed he had put on his black eyeliner. Kyle came down after him wearing a dark green hoodie, an orange shirt, and grey skinny jeans and tan hiking boots. Unlike his dark-haired best friend, Kiki did not wear eyeliner or any type of makeup. He did wear a necklace with a Nintendo 64 controller charm on it that Stan had gotten him for Hanukkah last year.

After Stan had put on black gloves and Kyle had put on green gloves we turned off the TV, lights, and locked up. We went in Stan's blue car, blasting Neon Trees on the way over. Stan parked near the West entrance, and we walked up to the mall that was now open 24/7. I looked to my right to see Kyle smiling and laughing at some comment Stan had made. Stan looked at Kyle adoringly, smiling even as the winter wind whipped his hair around.

Over the years those two had grown closer than anyone I'd ever seen. If someone had asked me to give them an example of perfect friendship I'd introduce them to these two. Stan and Kyle are my inspiration; I know love exists, because I see it clearly with them. Now if they could only see that themselves and actually get together.

I hadn't been in the mall since December when I had to do my Christmas shopping. I was immediately hit by the smell of cinnamon pretzels and shoppers pushing past with their purchases. We made our way past the jewelry department, Forever 21 and Panera Bread, and ended up looking at a map; Kyle tracing his finger along to where we needed to go.

"Okay, we're here, so that means we have to go upstairs, past Hot Topic and it'll be on the left, here." Kiki said, pointing to a red dot on the map.

"So let's go." I said.

Stan pointed at the escalator. "Whoa, dude. Look at the human cattle packed on there."

Kyle and I saw the overweight and overcrowded masses huddled on the escalators.

"Fuck that, I'm not messing with that mess." I said.

"Well what do you propose we do?" Kyle asked.

I looked around the crowded mall and saw a glass elevator that went up to the second level.

I pointed to it. "We could take the elevator."

Stan and Kyle looked at it, then back to me. They cocked their heads toward it.

"Let's go." They said in perfect unison.

In the elevator we made faces at the people shopping below us. The people in the elevator with us were glaring at our behavior. But we're seventeen year-olds and we really don't give a crap what they think. The ride wasn't that long, and we got to the second level with no problems.

We entered Vintage Stock, a white room with gray carpeting and wall to wall geekdom. Posters lined the walls, and there were shelves of movies and video games. The floor had bins full of comic books, cds, and some records. I saw at the end of the room there was a wall with nothing but plush toys from the Mario games and action figures. Stan and Kyle went off together to explore the store, perusing the comic books.

I looked around a bit; the store was everything Kyle said it would be. I could understand why he'd like it; but I'm not really into this kind of thing. I could leave and look at another store, but I don't really want to. There's some interesting vintage stuff here, and they have merchandise from the sixties and seventies and eighties on the walls. I'm reading an old Fantastic Four comic when I see Stan walking towards the exit.

"Where are you going?" I ask.

He stops to explain briefly.

"I forgot to lock the damn car, I'll be right back."

He left the store, and headed back in the direction we came. Stan was never the jock people in elementary school saw him as. He hasn't played football since the end of fifth grade and he's said on numerous occasions that he hates football. He's almost as tall as Craig, but he has no muscle definition. He's like Kyle, all long limbs and a skinny body. Except Kyle's backside is fuller and more defined.

Not that I look at it or anything. Kyle's an inch taller than me, and he's also an inch shorter than Stan in terms of height. I put the comic back and look over at the cds. Most of the stuff here is electro or old seventies glam or punk. It's all stuff you'd have to spend hours online trying to find for your mp3, which of course I don't have.

I manage to find some cds with opera music on them. Imagine my surprise at finding them. Most of the cds were full of arias sung by famous tenors, and there were a few in here I had never heard of. I checked the price tags on the ones I was interested in. They were incredibly cheap.

"Holy shit, four dollars for six cds? WOOHOO!"

Everyone in the store stared at me for my outburst. I'd say I was embarrassed, but I wasn't. I didn't think it could get any better, but it did. According to the sign posted by the bins any cd with a green sticker was marked down and would be sold for half the price. And all the cds in my hand had those green stickers. If I got these I'd have a starting point to work with in my interest in singing opera.

Okay, I have two options. One: Buy the cds with the spare money in my wallet, or two: Don't get the cds and save my money for a time when I need to pay bills or buy food. If I get the cds it'll be an investment, and it'll help me in my goal of getting back into singing. However if I go home with a plastic bag filled with purchases my drunk parents are sure to be pissed that I bought something which they would think I didn't need, instead of giving it to them for beer money. But then again it is my money and I should do what I want with it.

As the cashier was ringing up my cds I looked over to the other side of the store and saw a few girls trying to hit on Kyle. Needless to say they failed. And right after that some hipster douche bag tried to put the moves on him. And he was rejected like the girls. The cashier handed over a bag with my cds in them and I stepped aside after they were paid for with the singles from my wallet.

With the bag in my hand and no one else around that needed to buy anything, the cashier watched with me as guy after guy and girl after girl hit on Kyle, each one turned away. The cashier, a Korean guy with a beard in his forties spoke to me.

"Is that your friend?" He asks me.

"You mean the one getting hit on by everyone? Yup."

Kiki left the group that had gathered around him to check out the video games. After he stepped on some guy's foot that wouldn't leave him alone. I shook my head.

"I don't get it. He's not ugly or anything, but I don't understand why everyone hits on him."

"Well it might have to do with the Jolene theory." the cashier replied.

I looked back to the guy. "Huh?"

He rolls his eyes and says "You know that Dolly Parton song about the red-head?"

"I don't listen to country music."

The cashier rolls his eyes before singing in a low tone.

"Your beauty is beyond compare, with flaming locks of auburn hair, with ivory skin and eyes of emerald green."

I look over at Kyle again. Stan returned without my noticing. The two of them were laughing and checking out Okama gamesphere games. The only one who had ivory skin was Stan and that was a given what with him being a total emo. Kyle's dark red hair was styled in long curly ringlets that framed his face; years of product use had made the once frizzy curls looser and softer.

"He has an olive-skin tone." I tell the cashier.

"Whatever, the point being he's a red-head with green eyes. In this town that kind of coloring is a rarity." He replied.

"You think the only reason he gets hit on is his looks?" I ask.

"Most people like red-heads. Fiery red-heads." he answered.

"Yeah, he's not so much fiery as he has an extremely short fuse." I replied.

"Hmm." he said. I assume that was the end of that conversation.

I walked over to the dvd wall where the guys were.

"Hey Kenny, check this out." Stan said.

Kyle was holding up a collector's edition dvd of Rocky Horror Picture Show.

I grin. "You two getting nostalgic?"

"A bit." Kyle answered.

I saw Stan blushing.

Last year during Halloween Cartman had gotten the idea from a flyer he had found at City Wok that we should enter a costume contest in Denver because according to him the $2,500 prize money was "Fucking sweet, you guys!" We ended up going dressed as characters from Rocky Horror Picture Show. Cartman went as Frank-N-Furter, the drag queen in him out in full force in pearls, red lipstick and a black satin one-piece leotard and fishnets. Butters was Columbia, he wore a top hat and a Rockette's style tuxedo and tails that were covered in red and yellow sparkly sequins. Stan went as Riff Raff, his fake long blond hair and jacket and vest were so creepy when accompanied with Kyle's version of Magenta. He wore a French maid's uniform and these blood red platform pumps and really trampy make up.

I was Rocky. Because according to Cartman I was the most masculine blond we had. Even though I had no muscle definition whatsoever, and the weather was freezing cold outside, I spent the entire night with a spray tan, wearing gold shiny shorts and my shoes.

The costume contest was held in this underground club. Cartman's mom's boyfriend of the week had been nice enough to make us fake ID's so we could get in. As awesome as our costumes were, we didn't win. Cartman threw a major bitch fit about it, until he discovered that the club had unlimited popcorn shrimp and free flowing alcohol. We ended up spending the entire night there, drunk off our asses and partying.

I don't remember much of that night, except puking in a potted plant and stumbling around a lot. One thing I do remember though is seeing Stan sitting in a chair with Kyle sitting in his lap, well more like straddling it; the two of them making out passionately. Kyle's hands were resting on Stan's shoulders, and Stan had his hands on Kyle's ass, spanking him every now and then making Kyle jump a little bit while they continued to make out. Back then I realized that this was the first time they had ever done something like this. After we got home Stan and Kyle said nothing about it; I don't think that they even know I saw them, but neither of them has said anything about it or done anything with each other far as I know beyond that one drunken encounter.

We decide to eat dinner at the food court after Kiki and I harass Stan into paying for us. I can't find any macaroni and cheese anywhere, so I'm forced to settle for the cheapest food here; Teriyaki. Which turns out to be fucking fantastic. Kyle decides to get the same thing as me, and Stan walks over to the other side of the food court to get some Panda Express. When Kyle points out that it's basically the same thing only more expensive Stan tells him to shut up while Kyle sticks his tongue out at him while he walks off. I wonder if Kiki has feelings for Christophe. He didn't seem like he minded it when the blue-haired Frenchman kissed him.

"So what'd you buy?" Kyle asks.

I pull out my cds and show him. I already know he bought that Rocky Horror Picture Show dvd, and Stan bought some video games for his Okama gamesphere. Kyle examines each cd, handing them back to me.

"Opera?" He asks.

I nod my head.

"Since when do you like opera, Kenny?" Kiki asks me.

"Since...I don't know, but, do you remember when I left for Romania to train to be an opera singer?"

He blinks a few times and shakes his head.

"Well, I've been thinking. I was actually pretty good at singing opera back then, and I wanted to get back into it."

Kyle talks with some teriyaki in his mouth, how he manages not to show any is beyond me.

"That sounds pretty cool. So what, you're gonna take singing lessons?"

"I don't think I can afford that right now. But I'm thinking about it. I just remember singing being something I was good at."

"And you wanna get back into it?"

"Yeah. What do you think?"

"I think it's a good idea. I had no idea you were good at singing, Kenny."

"Well...I mean I was good back then, I have no idea how I sound now." I explain.

"It still sounds cool to me. If you like something, I say go for it." Kyle replied.

"Thanks. I saw all those people hitting on you in Vintage Stock, what was that about?"

He looks down at his food, "I don't know dude, people are weird." Kyle answered.

"You didn't seem like you liked it." I comment.

He looks up at me, and swallows some more teriyaki before replying.

"I'm not a fan of random strangers coming up and harassing me when I'm trying to shop."

"I bet you'd like it if it was a blue-haired French kid harassing you." I say with a grin.

He's looking down smiling softly. I think it's safe to assume that Christophe is the reason for that smile on his face. As soon as Stan gets back with his orange chicken, that smile is gone. And now that Stan's smiling at him, Kyle smiles again, this time for his best friend. They talk about school and their jobs, and Kyle and I say nothing about what we talked about before Stan showed up.

Stan frowns when he notices what Kyle is eating.

"What?" Kyle asks.

"Pork, Kyle? Really?" Stan says.

Kyle looks at the meat on his stick.

"It doesn't count if it's Chinese food." Kyle responds.

"It's not Chinese food though, it's Teriyaki." I point out.

"Oh shut up." Kyle says.

Stan takes Kyle's food away and makes him share his orange chicken with him.

After we leave the guys drive me back to my place, waving good bye as Stan drives himself and Kyle back to his house.

That night I sneak my cds past my parents and get them into my bedroom. I listen to them with my old beat up portable cd player, my headphones preventing anyone else in my house from listening to the music. I've listened to three cds so far, and I love the music, the singers' voices sound like nothing that could ever come out of this town. I want to sound like that. I want to sing.

I work on Sundays from five am to twelve pm. My back hurts and I'm tired. There's no one around shopping except crack addicts and insomniacs. The shiny white linoleum floor is making me sick. The lights are way too bright in this store.

I shouldn't have stayed up half the night. I'm exhausted, and I'm hungry, and my job fucking sucks. I can't complain though. I need this job, I need to keep working. If I don't I run the risk of being unemployed like my dad; and that is the last thing I want.

During my lunch break I have some tap water from the break room. And that's it for me. I ignore everyone's stares as my stomach growls loudly for food. Of course no one asks me if I'd like something. I'm just the poor kid here, like everywhere else in my life.

I'm finishing up my shift, and all I wanna do is crawl into bed and sleep. But I can't do that. I have to clean my house today. It's something I have to do every other week, to avoid living in what is basically squalor. I clock out, and head back home.

The skies are grey and cloudy, and once again I'm freezing cold. The walk from town back to my house isn't very long; but since I've been on my feet for hours it feels like torture on my aching feet. By the time I reach my house I'm pretty sure my heels are bleeding. When I get in Kevin's on his way out and brushes past me, not bothering to say hello to his own brother. He takes the truck since he's the only one in the house with a valid driver's license however that does not stop my parents from driving it to the bar when they want to get drunk.

My mom's sleeping; she works at the Olive Garden during the night shift, washing dishes at the end of the night. Dad's at the bar, where he will be until one in the morning when he staggers home and he and mom will fight and yell and throw things until they pass out. I take off my shoes and walk to the bathroom in my socks to get the band-aids for my bloody heels. There is nothing more disgusting than peeling socks off sticky skin to clean off blood from heels to put band-aids on the wounds. After I get that done I put on another pair of socks on that have holes on the toes, but don't have any blood stains on them, so it's an improvement.

Cleaning without waking my mother is something I've gotten very good at. In this house I have to be as quiet as I can possibly be if I don't want to survive. Karen's up, and right now she's washing all the dirty dishes in the kitchen. I get the broom and start sweeping the rat droppings from the living room. I don't know what's worse, that or the dead rats I find in the tub every now and then.

I start sweeping the dust and dirt on the kitchen floor.

"How was work?" Karen whispers.

"It was alright. When did you get up?" I whisper back.

If we want our mother to stay asleep we'll have to whisper, to keep things as quiet as possible.

"Two hours ago. By the way we don't have any hot water." She says.

"That sucks."

"I know." She finishes the dishes and gets a dish rag to wipe off the counters.

I finish sweeping and I begin to clean the table with a rag of my own, trying my best to get the beer ring stains and cigarette ash off the table.

"Hey Kenny?" My sister speaks up.

I look over. "Yeah?"

"Has Kevin said anything to you at all?"

She ought to know Kevin doesn't speak to me.

"No. You know he doesn't speak to me."

"He hasn't said a word to anyone in days. Think something's wrong with him?"

"You mean like if he's in trouble?" I ask.

She nods.

"What if he's on drugs?"

I answer her.

"Well if he is we wouldn't know. That guy just keeps to himself; he's never really acknowledged us."

Our house is unbelievably filthy. There are empty glass bottles and broken shards and rotting foods and trash everywhere. I wish we could afford something to get rid of the smell of decay. Karen and I do our best to work as quietly as we can to get our house as clean as we can get it. I'm sure we've thrown away six garbage bags filled with trash.

We're outside; tossing the bags to the curb and when we're done Karen taps me on the shoulder. I drop the last bag before I turn around.

"Hmm?"

"I'm hungry." She tells me.

"Me too."

We go back inside to have dinner. Karen pulls out the toaster and I get the blueberry pop tarts. We get two clean plates and two glasses of water. We have to be careful not to over eat, so we both get one pop tart each. I know she's starving just as bad as me.

While we eat in the cold dining room the light above us flickers. We look up at it as we eat dinner.

"Mom forgot to pay the electric bill again." I state.

Karen looks down at her pop tart.

"I hate pop tarts. The only reason I'm eating this is because we have nothing else."

"Karen, as soon as I get paid I can get us something else."

"No you can't. I know our parents. They're greedy bastards who'll demand you hand over your hard-earned money to buy more beer and pay the bills that they don't want to pay for."

My sister's very insightful.

"When I grow up I swear I'll never eat pop tarts again. I'll eat anything but this." She declares.

I know exactly how she feels. I think until we're old enough to move out we're stuck with our parents, stuck in this vicious cycle of fighting, drinking, and poverty and pop tarts.

"You know what my worst fear is?" Karen asks.

"What?"

She stands up and puts her dishes up.

"That I'll end up just like them."

That chills me. It's also one of my fears. The last thing I want is to end up like my parents, and I'll do anything to avoid that.

I put my dishes up as well, cleaning them and putting them in the cupboard.

"You're not gonna end up like them." I tell her.

She faces me.

"And neither am I."

We hug briefly in the kitchen, before pulling apart and going to our respective rooms. That night after work Kevin drives dad home and mom comes out so Kevin can give her a ride to work while dad stumbles to their room to sleep. But not before mom and dad yell at each other in passing. Karen and I hide to avoid the confrontation from our parents' fights. When Kevin gets back from dropping mom off for work he just goes to his room without saying anything to Karen or me.

I'm sleeping in my cold, cold room when my mom gets home in the middle of the night, one of her coworkers gives her a ride home every night. My mom slams my door open, startling me. I sit up in bed and see her standing there, the light from the hallway harsh and flickering. I had hidden my cds in my old chest in my room, the lock on a chain that I kept on my neck, hidden under my sweater.

My mom says nothing to me as she just stares at me with this mean look on her face. I'm tired and I'm terrified. What does she want? She steps into the room.

"You get paid yet?" She asks in that short voice of hers.

I shake my head. "Not yet."

She steps closer to me. "The minute that paycheck gets into your grubby little hand you hand it over to me do you understand?"

"Yes ma'am." I answer her.

"I mean it. And you were supposed to clean today you little shit." She sneered at me.

"I..I did clean."

I'm awake now, and I'm confused. The house was cleaner than it was this morning.

"Oh you did, did you?" She grabs some of my hair with her clenched hand and drags me out of bed.

"Ow! Ow! Ow! Mom, please stop!"

She drags me by my hair out into the hall, and it feels like she's trying to pull my hair out by my roots. She throws me down on the ground near a puddle of vomit that smells like whiskey and beer. I land on my hands and knees, and when I can I touch the spot where she grabbed me, rubbing it. She points to the spot on the floor.

"Your dad puked on his way to bed. You clean that mess up and it better be spotless." She says.

I watch as she walks into her room, shutting the door behind her. I look at the vomit on the floor. I sigh in defeat and get up to get something to clean the mess up. My head really hurts where my mom grabbed my hair. It takes a few tries before I manage to clean it up.

I go back to my room and fall asleep. It could have been worse. She could have actually hit me instead of just grabbing my hair. And she could have found my cds. I'm just lucky she didn't find them.

On Monday Cartman and Butters still aren't in school. They've been gone for while now. If I didn't know better I'd say I had reason to worry. I think tomorrow I'll go by their houses and see if their parents know anything.

Tweek surprises me by saying hello to me after school. I'm walking outside, and he comes over to where I'm at.

"Hey." He says, walking over to me.

"Hey. Are you sure it's ok for you to be talking to me on school grounds?"

He looks around. "No. It's not."

I nod before asking "Then why are you?"

"Well I felt like we haven't talked in a while, and I wanted to catch up." He explains.

"But what about Craig?"

"He's got detention right now." Tweek explains.

We're walking towards the town center.

"Why does he have detention?"

Tweek twitches as he replies.

"He Gah! He flipped off the teacher and got caught shoving a Freshman into a locker."

I roll my eyes. I should have expected an answer like that.

"So we're in the clear now. I hope." He says.

"How've you been?" I ask him.

"Good. You?"

"I'm alright." I reply.

It feels like it's going to snow, but it doesn't.

"What have you been up to?" I ask.

"I've been working at Harbucks, hanging with Craig and the guys and training for this match I've got in March. What about you? What have you been up to?"

I'm not going to tell him I went to hell a few days ago.

"Well, I hung out with Stan and Kyle on Saturday, we went to the mall and I got some cds with opera music on them." I answer.

"Really? Are they any nngh! good?" Tweek asks, involuntarily spasming.

"Uh, yeah. Yeah they're really good. You know the more I think about it, the more I wanna sing. Opera just...it's one thing I really like."

He smiles at me. "You know, I heard that there are conservatories all over the world, and it would be really cool if you got into one."

"It would, wouldn't it?" I smile and laugh.

"But I don't think it's possible right now. I just don't have the money for it right now."

Tweek frowns. "There must be something you can do. Like, I'll bet there's a scholarship program for stuff like this."

I look at him. "You think? What like a music scholarship?"

"Yeah man. You should talk to the guidance counselor about that." He says.

It sounds good. I need to find a place to take singing lessons before I can begin to think about that though. We end up standing outside the Pick-and-Save.

"I should...go in, get to work." I say awkwardly.

Tweek twitches a bit. "Right. I need to get to Harbucks, my dad needs me to come in early."

"Alright. Hey, Tweek?"

"Yeah?"

"Could I get your phone number? I just remembered you never gave it to me."

Tweek immediately pulls his phone out. "Ah! Sorry about that! Here."

He shows his phone number to me and I pull out a pen and write it on a scrap of paper from my note book.

"Thanks. I'll call you later, is that alright?" I ask.

"Yeah it's fine. But Kenny, please don't call until after eight, I'm gonna be with Craig until then, and I don't want him getting suspicious."

"Of course not. I'l see you later Tweek."

Tweek starts walking away to Harbucks. "Bye Kenny."

That night on the phone Tweek and I discussed how we could see each other without Craig finding out. I had brought up the idea that I could hang with him while he practiced boxing, but he said that wouldn't be possible because Craig was always there. I asked him if Craig spent every waking moment with him and Tweek responded seriously.

"Yes. If he can help it."

We talked until I started to get drowsy. Tweek explained to me that he never slept, that the caffeine in his system made him an insomniac. He told me that his parents wanted to have me over for dinner again on Wednesday.

"Is there anyone else in your family you wanna bring with you?" He asks me.

It doesn't take me long to answer.

"My little sister Karen. She'd love to have a meal that didn't involve pop tarts."

"Great. I'll let mom know to set an extra plate on Wednesday."

"Same time as last week?"

"Yeah. Night Kenny."

"Night Tweek."


	8. Chapter Eight

I walked over to Butters's house before school started to see what the hell was going on. It isn't like him to be absent for so long; he's one of those kids that thrives for perfect attendance. I can only assume Cartman has something to do with the fact that they've both been gone for a long time. Cartman's usually the one behind everything. If he weren't so lazy I think he could actually take over the world if he wanted to.

I'm freezing in my ratty sweater and my old jeans, my orange backpack slung over my right shoulder holds all my school stuff which is basically stuff my friends have been nice enough to give me. It's cold like it always is in the early mornings. I'm not worried about being late for school because the one good thing about living in a small town is that you don't have to walk far to get where you wanna get to. In fact I'm standing in front of the Stotch house right now. I knock and wait for someone to answer the door.

His bitch in sheep's clothing of a mother answers the door. Her face pulls a severe frown as soon as she sees me on her doorstep. I don't like her very much, and I know it pisses her off even more if I'm nice to her.

"Good morning Mrs. Stotch. Is Butter's home?"

She looks like she's got a mouthful of vinegar.

"No." she curtly answers me. I can tell she'd like nothing more than to get me the hell off her front step. I'm surprised she isn't swinging a broom at me. I smile up at her sweetly.

"Could you please tell me where he is?"

She looks down at me.

"No, I can't. Look, don't you have somewhere to be?" she asks me irritably.

"Not at the moment." I answer.

She sighs in irritation.

"Mrs. Stotch, Butters hasn't been in school in days. If he isn't home and he's not at school, could you please tell me where I could find him?"

His mother sneers at me before speaking.

"Young man, I'm only going to tell you this once: Butters isn't here. He is not around right now. He's not home. I can't tell you where he is."

Well then where is he? And where's Cartman?

"Well then could you tell me when he'll be back?" I ask politely.

"No. I've wasted enough time talking to you." she said before she slammed the door in my face.

I should have guessed she wouldn't give me any information. The Stotchs' have always hated me, especially his mother. She knows my family is poor and in her mind that equals criminal. They've never forgiven me for blinding their son in one eye.

Actually it was worse than that. Apparently the damage done to his left eye was so bad he had to have reconstructive surgery and the doctors had to take his mutilated eye out and replace it with a transplant. I still feel guilty about it, even to this day. Although Butters has forgiven me. Now he has mismatched eyes, his right eye is blue, his left eye is hazel.

I reach the Cartman residence and ring the doorbell. Maybe Cartman's mom will be more helpful. She answers the door in her pink bathrobe, her hair in curlers.

"Oh hello Kenneth." she greets me.

"Hello Mrs. Cartman. Is Eric in?" I ask.

She frowns and shakes her head.

"Oh I'm sorry Kenneth. Eric isn't home right now."

I figured that.

"Could you please tell me where I could find him?"

"Hmmm...I'm afraid I can't. I don't know where he is." she said.

"You don't? Aren't you worried about your son?" I ask.

She waves a hand dismissively and says in a cheerful manner,

"Not really. I know Eric can take care of himself."

I switch my backpack over to my left shoulder.

"Mrs. Cartman is there anything at all you can tell me?"

"Well, I know Eric said something about having business to take care of, and that his little friend Butters had something to do with it. But I really have no idea where they are."

I sigh. I guess this is as much information as I'm going to get. But what the hell kind of business could Cartman have that involved Butters? Or was it Butters that had some kind of business to take care of? And what could it be?

I ask Cartman's mom "Do you have any idea when they'll be back?"

"No, I don't believe I do. But I'll be sure to have Eric give you a call when he gets back from wherever he's gone." she replied.

I smiled politely. "Thanks Mrs. Cartman."

"You're welcome." she looked me over with an appreciative smile.

"My, my, my how you've grown."

Uh-oh.

"How old are you now Kenneth?"

"Still seventeen Mrs. Cartman." I answer.

I feel extremely uncomfortable as she looks at me.

"Would you like to come in for a while?" she asks, tilting her head towards the inside of her house.

I start walking backwards, away from the house.

"Uh, no thanks, Mrs. Cartman, I have to get to school."

"Are you sure Kenneth?" she asks.

I'm on the sidewalk now, and I start walking away as fast as I can.

"Yes. Thank you for the information Mrs. Cartman, but I really have to go now."

She called out to me, "Goodbye Kenneth. Come see me when you're eighteen won't you?"

I decided not to answer her. Ugh, Cartman hates it when his mom hits on his friends. I hate it. It makes me feel awkward like I'm some piece of meat. And the fact that his mom is the town whore makes it even more disgusting.

I get to school an hour early. I walk through the halls in the art department and on the walls I see flyers for the school's art festival that's coming up in a few weeks. I stop to read one. According to this flyer the seniors and juniors will be showcasing their art projects in February. The list of categories includes photo, film, sculpture, and painting. I've never gone to an art festival before. I think I'll go, just to see what kind of stuff will be on display. I walk ahead to the staircase leading up to the second floor library. I go inside and walk over to the front desk. The elderly woman behind the desk looks up at me as I stop in front of her.

"Excuse me, could I get some headphones?"

After I get my headphones I sit in front of one of the library's computers in the back and plug them in so I can listen to my music without disturbing anyone. I decide to get on youtoob and watch some videos of opera singers. If I'm going to be a singer, I want to listen to some of the music I'll be singing.

I love listening to Nessun Dorma, Panis Angelicus, Che gelida manina, Lascia ch'io pianga, and Vittoria Mio Core.

I'm so into my music that it startles me a bit when someone taps me on my shoulder. I jump a little as I look behind me. I see Tweek standing behind me. I pull the earphones out and I pause the video I'm on right now.

"Hey."

He twitches. "Hi."

He sits next to me, in the empty chair to my left.

"What are you doing here?" he asks me.

I point to the screen. "Research."

He looks at it and nods.

I look over at him as I exit out of youtoob.

"So what are you doing at school so early?"

"I'm always here early. I'm always worried that I'm gonna be late, and then I end up getting to school way earlier than I meant to. But I can't handle being late for anything man! It is way too much pressure!"

The way Tweek talks, it's very fast, faster than anything I've ever heard before. His words seem to run right after each other, and if you don't listen carefully you could miss what he says. His voice is lower than it was when we were kids. It in no way sounds high-pitched and screechy the way it used to.

"Are you hungry?" Tweek asks me.

"Yeah. Why?"

He reaches into his backpack and pulls out a small green box with the Harbucks logo on it. He puts it on the table in front of me. I look at it, then at him.

"What's in it?"

"Pastries. Argh! My parents are adding food to the Harbucks menu. Mom gave me some for breakfast, but I'm eergh! Not really into these kinds of things. You want them?"

"Sure! This is great, you know I didn't have anything to eat this morning. Thanks Tweek!"

I smile at him, and he smiles back.

I tear open the box to examine its contents. Tweek is still sitting next to me, a calculus book and note cards and a pen in his hand. While he wrote problems down on his note cards I took bites of the different pastries in the green box. Everything from the blueberry muffin to the banana nut bread tasted really good. It was all soft and sweet, and just tasted like heaven. If heaven had a taste I believe it would be this.

"You said you don't like this stuff?" I ask him, "Why? It's so sweet, all of it."

"Well that's why I don't like them. I don't like sweet stuff. I like hard, bitter tasting things. I like the taste of things that are strong and stringent." he replies.

"I don't think I understand."

"Not many people do. I can't explain it."

I nod my head in response and turn my attention back to the computer screen. I do a quick search of the different styles of opera, the types of singers out there, and the actual operas themselves. I wondered what kind of voice I had. If I practiced, I wondered if I could break glass on a high note. Madame Butterfly is depressing.

Tweek spoke up.

"Craig likes sweet things."

I look back over to him.

"He does?"

That didn't sound right. I didn't know the first thing about Craig but he didn't seem like the type that liked sweet things.

Tweek looks up from his book.

"Yeah. He won't eat anything unless it's really really sweet. He loves desserts. When he has coffee he always pours in more sugar than what would be recommended. AH!"

I don't know what to make of that.

"Well that's...interesting. How do you take your coffee?"

He smiles. "Black. Like metal."

"Metal?"

"Music." he explains.

"Ah. You like black metal?"

"Ah! Yeah. And punk. But we don't really play metal." he said.

"Wait, what do you mean play?"

His eyebrows furrow a bit and he frowns.

"Didn't I tell you? I thought I did."

"Tell me what?"

His eyebrows return to normal as he speaks.

"I'm in a band with Craig, Clyde and Token."

No way.

"Really?"

"Mmhmm."

"That's cool. So what instrument do you play?" I ask.

"The drums." he answers.

"Oh that's what you meant when you said you liked to keep the beat."

"Uh-huh. My parents got me my first drum set when I was eleven. My therapist thought it would lower my stress levels if I could drum away my frustration."

"That makes sense. What do the other guys play?"

"Nnngh! Token's on bass, Craig's on lead guitar and Clyde's our singer."

Clyde? As in Donovan?

"Clyde's the singer? How'd that happen?"

"He's actually got a really nice singing voice; it's strong and clear and pulls our music together." Tweek said.

"Okay, but...I just remember being Token's talent agent for a while when we were kids, and he had an amazing singing voice."

"I'm not saying he doesn't. But Token's the kind of singer that could make it without a band backing him up. Besides, he's more of a lounge type of singer, you know? His voice doesn't really work for the kind of stuff we do." Tweek responds.

"The kind of stuff you do? Like the type of music you guys play? Say what kind of music do you guys play anyway?"

"Pop punk."

"I didn't know that was a thing."

He laughs. "Well it is."

I smile at him.

He continues, "We usually do covers of other bands' songs, but we nngh! have some orginal songs of our own that we perform."

"Cool. How long have you guys been in a band together?"

"Nngh! Um, Oh sweet Jesus, how long has it been? Since seventh grade."

I nod.

"That's awesome. My friends aren't musically talented even though they think they are...They suck. Like, they really suck. I hate to say it but its true."

Tweek looks away like he doesn't know what to make of that. We take a break from talking, he finishes his math work and I write down some arias that I'm interested in performing. I look behind me and I notice the library is essentially empty. I guess it's true, South Park High is one of those schools that's known more for athletic wins and school musicals. I have to remember to talk to the guidance counselor today.

I decide to talk to Tweek again.

"So what's the name of your band?"

He writes something down before turning back to me.

"Phase Two." He answers with a grin.

It takes me a while to understand the significance of that name.

But when I do I grin back.

"Phase Two, huh?"

"Yep. I finally figured out what Phase Two is." he said.

"Have you told the Gnomes?"

"Jesus Christ, no way man! I can't believe you even remember them!" he exclaimed.

I rub the back of my head, "Yeah...you don't really forget seeing a gnome villiage."

Or getting flattened by a runaway cart for that matter.

"I think erk! the gnomes heads would explode." he said.

The bell rang, telling us we had ten minutes to get to class.

I tossed the empty green box away and pulled my headphones out and wrapped them up. Tweek put his stuff back into his dark green messenger bag. I logged out of the computer I was using. I put my notebook back in my orange backpack.

"I guess we won't have any time to talk in school after this, huh?" I ask.

Tweek smiles sadly and shakes his head.

"It sucks man, I know. But if we're going to be friends we have to keep this a secret. If Craig ever finds out...," he visibly pales, "I don't even want to think about what he'd do. An angry Craig isn't something I wanna mess with man!"

We stand up with our bags, his slung over and resting on his right hip, my backpack hung on my left shoulder.

"Then why are you risking it by even hanging out with me in secret? I mean you could just not be my friend at all if you're worried about being found out."

I wasn't being mean, I genuinely wanted to know why he was risking so much.

He looked at me like it was the most obvious thing and it should be easy to get.

"As much as I like Craig and enjoy being his best friend, no one should ever tell someone who they should or shouldn't hang out with. I'm hanging out with you because I like you. You're nice and I don't think there should be anything keeping us from being friends."

"That's...incredibly insightful Tweek."

He shrugs his shoulders.

We walk out of the library, I give the headphones back to the elderly woman at the front desk. We stand in the large grey carpeted halls, the sea of students creating a cover for us.

"I'll see around Kenny." Tweek said before turning to walk away.

"Wait!" I grabbed his arm and pulled him back.

"Yeah?" he asked after I let go of him.

"Do you still see the Underpants Gnomes?"

He has a blank look on his face before a smile takes its place. He looks around to make sure no one's close enough to us to hear what he says next.

He leans in close, not close enough to look suspicious, but enough so only I can hear him.

"They made me their king."

He waves goodbye as he walks off with this confident stride. I believe him, because why wouldn't I? Anything's possible in this town.

I'm not one of those students that gets perfect grades like Kiki but I do alright. My main goal in my classes is to pass them. Not to have straight A's, but just to pass. I'm happy and content when I get a B- on my papers. I work hard though, don't get me wrong. I don't want to be someone who just coasts by in life.

My classes are relatively easy if I pay attention. History, English, and Anatomy are alright for me. I hate math though. I fucking loathe it. There is nothing more frustrating to me than looking down at an algebraic equation and not knowing what the hell I'm looking at.

I mean I'm not the smartest guy in the world I can admit that, but seeing polynomial expressions makes my head hurt. And I have no idea how to factor the expression in anything. The formulas on my paper always manage to stress me out. It should be easy to get but for me it just isn't. I see a page filled with stuff like this (x - 3)2 + (y - 5)2 = 4 and it feels like my head is completely empty, and I'm devoid of all intelligence.

In my desk I stare at my worksheet. I have no fucking clue how to do any of this! Yes I pay attention, but that doesn't mean I understand any of it! If I could I'd write down 'I don't know' for every answer. Fuck my life. It's not the best thing to do but I have no choice. I'm just gonna copy off the guy next to me. I have ten minutes left and the teacher is eating pudding.

During the time that I spend out in the halls walking to my next classes I can't help but notice Tweek and those guys. They're kind of hard to miss. Tweek doesn't seem like the kind of person that he was in the library. It might not be any of my business but its kind of odd to see him so...different. I can't acknowledge him and he can't do the same for me. But I can see him. I see him trembling, eyes wide and fearful. And as he walks the halls he is always by Craig's side.

I watch from a distance as some of the guys in Craig's group hassle some freshmen and sophomores before the next class before lunch. They seem to take enjoyment in pushing other kids to the sides, shoving some of them in lockers. The smart ones know to scurry away. It's obvious Craig's the ringleader, he's always been a total bully. While he gives orders he doesn't actually do anything. His lackeys are content to do what he tells them.

I don't want to stick around for too long. I can't risk Craig noticing me. Or Tweek, for that matter. It's not a good idea for me to be too close to them. At least not in public.

I walk off in the opposite direction and turn at the next corner into the empty English hallway. One of the dark metal blue lockers along the wall rattles. I stumble back as the door of the locker in front of me swings open, a small body rolls out in a somersault. I watch as the kid slowly gets up and brushes himself off. He hasn't noticed me yet.

He groans as he rolls his neck from side to side. He's very short and small with short red hair. He's wearing an olive green turtleneck and jeans with white sneakers. His black frame glasses look really familiar. I think I've seen him before with Butters a few times.

"Uh, hey kid."

He looks at me. "What?"

I walk over, wondering if I've made a mistake.

"Did you use to hang out with Butters Stotch?"

It looks like he recognizes the name. "Yeah."

"You're Dougie, right?" I ask.

"Yeah. Why?"

"Butters has been missing for a few days. You wouldn't have any idea where he might be would you?"

"Nope." He walks away and I decide to follow him.

"Are you sure?" I ask.

"I haven't hung out with Butters since middle school. I have no idea where he could be or what he's doing."

I sigh. "Damn. I've asked everyone else and no one knows what happened. What were you doing in a locker anyway?"

"Hiding. I figured I could avoid getting shoved into someone else's locker if I just hid in my own until those assholes rounded the corner."

"Makes sense. Hey while you're here, Butters told me once that you liked math."

Dougie stands outside a classroom door, his hand on the handle. He looks at me.

"Yeah. And?"

I shift my weight to my other foot.

"What would you say to someone who was having trouble in his math class?"

"...I'd say get a tutor dumbass. Now if you'll excuse me I have a journalism class to get to."

And with that he opened the door to his class and shut it in my face.

"...Well that was unhelpful."

Later, I walk into the cafeteria with Stan and Kyle, the three of us sit at the same table we always sit at. I eat off of Stan and Kyle's trays. It doesn't bother them. They're too busy talking to each other to notice I'm stealing their fries and little plastic cup filled with peaches.

"Dude I'm telling you Whatever happened to Baby Jane is a way creepier movie than sev7en anyday." Stan said as he flipped some of his hair out of his face.

Kyle rolled his eyes as he stabbed one of his yams with a small plastic fork.

"Oh come on! There is no way two aging star hags being bitchy to each other is anywhere near as creepy as a detective horror story set in a crapsack world!"

"Kyle, the rivalry between Joan Crawford and Bette Davis onscreen is so tense and creepy it shatters nerves. It's a billion times scarier than Brad Pitt blandly acting his way through a derivative plot that relies on body horror to tell a story."

As I drank Stan's gatorade I noticed how Stan inclined his body towards Kyle, while Kyle inclined his body toward Stan. I didn't know anyone at this school who was as into one person as these two. I thank whatever power is keeping them from noticing that half their food is gone.

"Kenny what do you think?" Stan asked me.

Kyle and Stan looked at me expectantly, as if I actually had an opinion on this. I had never seen either movie but I knew that Kyle loved gory police stories and Stan loved really old black and white films starring gay icons. This was something that was between them, and I didn't feel like getting involved. Neither of them were going to budge and it was impossible to get either one to change their minds.

"I think you two have too much time on your hands." I said.

As we ate Stan and Kiki continued to bicker. I was getting bored so I decided to try changing the subject.

"Hey Kyle could you help me with my math homework?" I ask.

Kyle doesn't look up from his phone as he answers me.

"No problem." He's so focused I don't think he even realizes what he's agreed to.

Stan looks at both of us as he speaks his hands on the table.

"Well wait a minute, why didn't you ask me for help?"

"Because Kyle's the smart one." I answer.

"And what am I, the emo with nothing to offer?" He asks a hand clutching at his chest.

"Stan, Kyle's academically smart. That's why I asked him. You have plenty to offer."

"Oh yeah like what?"

"Heart."

We both look at Kyle his phone still in his hands. He looks at Stan and smiles.

"You have a lot of heart, Stan." Kyle tells him.

Stan smiles back at Kyle, the two of them in their own world again. I wondered if I had anything to offer. What did I contribute?

"Have you guys heard anything from Butters or Cartman?" I ask.

"Nope." Stan says.

"Uh-uh." Kyle replies.

I lean forward a bit as I ask "What do you think happened?"

Stan shakes his head.

"I don't know dude. It's not like this is the first time one of us has gone missing though. Remember when we were kids? We used to leave for days at a time unsupervised."

"Well yeah, but Stan we also used to believe that stuff just happened to us and it was common for us not to fight the weirdness and to go along with it. Now that we're older we usually don't up and leave whenever weird stuff happens."

Kyle looks up from his phone and adds, "Fatass is always up to something criminal. It isn't that big a surprise that he'd disappear for a while. Maybe Butters went with him to make sure he didn't get himself killed."

Stan looked down at Kyle's phone.

"What are you doing?" he asked him.

"I'm installing Gingerbread on my phone." Kyle replied.

He looked back to Stan who had a confused look on his face.

"...I have no idea what you just said."

As we got up to go to our classes we managed to bump into Christophe. Or to be more precise, Christophe "bumped" into Kyle. By which I mean he walked in front of him. The blue haired Frenchman smiled at Kyle, who was surprised to have the guy who had been harassing him standing right in front of him. I stood calmly by, watching Stan out of the corner of my eye to see if he'd go ballistic or not.

"Uh...Hi." Kyle greeted him.

Christophe smiled even more brightly at Kyle.

"Allo." he responded.

Stan stepped forward, playing the part of jealous best friend.

"What the hell do you want?" he demanded.

Christophe barely acknowledged Stan, keeping his dark brown eyes soley on Kyle.

"I just wanted to say Allo to Kyle 'ere. Iz that such a crime?"

I managed to grab Stan's arm to keep him from going over and ripping Christophe's head off. Kyle looked down, and I swear to the universe, the dude was blushing. He looked back up into the Frenchman's eyes.

"I over'eard you debating about the creepiness of the movie Se7en."

That's why he was talking to him?

Kyle blinked a few times, processing the information.

"Oh. Do you like that movie?"

Christophe shook his head.

"No. I prefer Brad Pitt as Tyler Durden."

I saw Kyle's eyes light up.

"Fight Club? Dude! That's one of my favorite movies!"

Christophe stepped closer to Kyle, smiling at the red head.

"It iz my favorite. I watch it all ze time. "I am Jack's smirking revenge."

Kyle was beaming at him. "It's only after we've lost everything that we're free to do anything."

"Without pain, without sacrifice, we would have nothing." Christophe quoted.

Stan and I watched these two, who had never had a real conversation before now, quoting some nineties movie to each other. Stan's blue eyes seemed to me at least to hold some fire in them. He yanked his arm out of my grasp and grabbed Kyle, pulling him away. Kyle looked a bit startled to have Stan pulling him away like that. I had to go with them, so I followed as they started walking.

"Come on Kyle. We''ve got AP Chemistry to get to, remember?" Stan said.

"Oh. Yeah...Alright. Bye Christophe." Kyle said, waving goodbye.

Christophe simply smiled and waved a tan gloved hand, "Until we meet again, mon ami."

I found myself trailing after Stan and Kyle, who were arguing again. I didn't need anyone to tell me what it was that had caused them to start bickering again.

That night alone in my room I lay on my back, the phone held in my left hand. I listened to Tweek rant about how this man had come into his parents coffee house with a German sheperd.

"It was freaking huge man! I almost mistook it for a horse!"

I had to laugh at that.

"Are you serious?"

"Gah! Jesus Christ, yes! And the guy erk! didn't seem to realize that his dog did not belong inside! Ah! I had to clean dog hair off of most of the chairs!"

"Sucks, man. This old lady made me search up and down the aisles for something we didn't even carry. And when I told her it wasn't in stock she accused me of lying to her."

"AH! R-really?"

"Yeah, Tweek. She started whacking me with her cane. If it hadn't been me it would have been funny as hell."

I heard Tweek's mother in the background humming some tune I couldn't place.

"Hey Tweek? What's your favorite movie?"

"Why do you wanna know that?"

"Cause we're friends. I think its important to know that stuff."

"Oh. Well, uh...hmmm."

"What?" I asked after a few moments of silence.

"I guess I don't have a favorite movie. Oh Jesus! Everyone has a favorite movie! What kind of freak does that make me? ! But I like so many movies, its hard to pick just one! Ah! I can't take this kind of pressure!"

I sat up, my legs crossing.

"Dude, Tweek, calm down. Its okay if you don't have a favorite movie. I don't."

He seemed to have calmed down a bit from that statement.

"Huh? You don't?"

"Nope. I mean, I like some films. Nothing that came out recently or in the past five years, but yeah. There are some movies that I like too much to decide which one I like more than the others."

"Nngh! That's ah! The same problem I have."

We continued to talk about movies for a bit, and I learned that any film based on a Roald Dahl book that he watched as a child freaked him out. Which is understandable.

"Ghostbusters, The Dark Crystal, The Alligator People, I Am legend, The Island of Doctor Moreau, Videodrome, The Dark Knight, And Hotel California. Those are some of my favorites. That I can think of right now. What about you Tweek? What are some of your favorites?"

"Nnngh! Well, I like David Bowie's Ziggy Stardust and the Spiders from Mars, Phantom of the Paradise, The Rocky Horror Picture Show, Velvet Goldmine, Breakfast on Pluto, Black Moon, Hedwig and the Angry Inch, and Sid and Nancy." Tweek answered.

I flinched as I heard fists hitting walls, and dishes being thrown.

"Fuck, Carol! Quit trying to hit my head!" My dad's voice resonated from down in the living room.

"Stand still Stuart I can't punch you when you're fucking moving around like that!"

Why, God why couldn't they go one night without tearing the house apart or fighting? Is it too much to ask?

"What was that?" Tweek asked me.

"Nothing. Just mom and dad being...them."

"O-oh..."

Suddenly my little sister Karen threw my door open and flung herself inside. She had her back to the door, hands behind her,and I could see the fresh tears rolling down her face.

"Hey, Tweek? I'm gonna have to hang up now, is that cool?"

"Sure Kenny. You and your sister are still gonna come over tomorrow for dinner right? My mom just asked me to make sure."

"Yeah. Yeah we'll be there. Bye Tweek."

"Bye Kenny."

After we hung up I went over to my sister who was still standing against my door.

"Karen?"

She was crying, making this pitiful sound.

"Why are they like that? Why are they always drunk and fighting? I cant, I-"

She didn't say anymore than that. She was crying too hard. I held her as she cried, wishing this didnt have to be our lives. Karen didn't deserve this. She didn't deserve to come home to a house to parents who had no problem with violently attacking each other in front of her.

"Karen...I know it's not easy right now but I promise this isn't going to be our lives. Things will get better."

She stepped away from me to stand in the middle of my room.

"When? When, Kenny? When will things get better? Because they really suck right now!" She exclaimed.

"I know something that might cheer you up."

She wiped the tears with the back of her hand as she listened.


End file.
